


Fear Itself

by tptplayer5701



Series: "Mind Games"-verse [35]
Category: Miraculous Ladybug
Genre: Action, Africa, African Folklore, Aliens, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Chloé Bourgeois Being Chloé Bourgeois, Family, Good Chloé Bourgeois, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Kwami & Miraculous Lore, Magic, Male-Female Friendship, Minor Character Death, Monkey Lê Chiến Kim | Roi Singe, New Miraculous, POV Antagonist, Post-Hawk Moth Defeat, Underage Rape/Non-con, War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-23
Updated: 2021-01-06
Packaged: 2021-03-10 18:07:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 15
Words: 31,564
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28261374
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tptplayer5701/pseuds/tptplayer5701
Summary: A “Mind Games”-verse story:Chloe’s mouth set in a hard line. “Right. So how can the Heroes of Paris assist you with this?”“I believe the Monkey Miraculous would be most helpful to us in this situation,” suggested Mohamed. “His ability to disrupt special abilities may be our best chance to counteract this Miraculous user and stop Popo’s men.”Chloe pursed her lips. “The Monkey, you say? Are you sure you don’t want the Cat or Ladybug? Maybe the Fox? Or even theDog?”Mohamed shook his head. “I have no doubt any of them could assist, but what we really need is someone to counter the Miraculous directly.”Chloe’s nostrils flared slightly. “Very well. Let me make a phone call and see what I can do.”
Relationships: Chloé Bourgeois & Lê Chiến Kim, Lê Chiến Kim & Xuppu, Lê Chiến Kim/Ondine
Series: "Mind Games"-verse [35]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1666807
Comments: 175
Kudos: 20





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This story earns a trigger warning for implied rape, though nothing explicit. The chapter in question will be noted at the beginning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The idea for this came from a conversation with bryguy2324 on FF.net, who noted that the Heroes’ portal system opens up a wide array of possibilities for heroes and miraculous users to interact.
> 
> The only character at the beginning of this chapter who has appeared previously in the “Mind Games”-verse is Mohamed/Maroodiga Cawlan (“Grey Elephant”), the Elephant Miraculous user who first appeared in “The Battle for the Seine” during the [“Egypt”](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26066554/chapters/63790309) arc and who made an appearance in [“The Life and Times of the Heroes of Europe”](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26771119/chapters/67402348) as the African Miraculous Team’s tech expert. Everyone else gets explained eventually.

Maroodiga Cawlan crouched behind a juniper tree, trying to make himself appear invisible in the dying light. His dark green suit, almost grey, blended in well with the foliage of the dense forest surrounding them. Unfortunately, his partner for this mission had no such luck; her miraculous suit was a brilliant red-orange that stood out painfully against the natural coloration of the forest. Perhaps he _should_ have left her in the village just visible through the trees, rather than having her set up so close to him. “Get down even further,” he whispered hoarsely.

Ngarayap gave him a look of annoyance but did as he asked, dropping to lie flat on the ground and hiding her slight frame as best she could under the ground cover. “I really wish we knew why this warlord Popo is so focused on claiming _this_ village,” she muttered. “Does he know about the Temple?”

Maroodiga Cawlan looked up along the path they were watching as far as he could see, straining his ears for any sign of approaching enemies. There was nothing. The forest around them was silent, without even the sounds of birds or animals to be heard. Slowly he shook his head. “I don’t know,” he answered with a frown. “I don’t think anyone there would intentionally have betrayed us to him, but so many people in Yoonis know about us – even just the rumors – that anything is possible.” His mouth twisted up in thought. “But at the same time, I am certain that those who really _know_ – Dekha and Haji especially – would never reveal our location, _or_ the existence of the miraculous.”

Ngarayap opened her mouth to argue, but Maroodiga Cawlan held up a hand to forestall her question as the sound of twigs snapping in the distance drew his attention. He peered down the path, eyes narrowed, looking for the source of that sound. He didn’t have to wait long, as a short column of men in ill-matched dark-colored uniforms marched down the path. Although he didn’t hear her move, he could sense when Ngarayap turned her head to look down the path in that direction. As the militants drew closer, Maroodiga Cawlan began a count. All told there were between twelve and twenty of them, varying in age from eleven or twelve up to what Maroodiga Cawlan estimated to be at least forty. The leader was a mountain of a man, over two meters tall and built like a freight train, with skin the color of midnight and arms as thick as a tree. In one hand he held a long machete. Strapped across his back was a sleek silver rifle which set off alarm bells of recognition in Maroodiga Cawlan’s head.

The column of militants reached the edge of the forest and stopped to assemble just inside the tree cover where they were still out of sight from the fields surrounding Yoonis. Maroodiga Cawlan tensed, ready to spring into action. His fingers tightened around one end of the hose looped around his neck and shoulder as a sash. Before he could act, however, there was a flash of light from near the center of the group. Maroodiga Cawlan shielded his eyes from the brightness, and when he looked back one of the younger militants had transformed, wearing a suit of black combat pants and boots with a black shirt sporting red streaks along the sides. A pair of tall black miraculous ears with red outlines protruded from his hair. He took a whip from his belt, cracked it in the air, and bellowed, “Fear-y!”

Maroodiga Cawlan had never experienced something like this before in his life. Every muscle of his body tensed and his hair stood on end. His pupils contracted. Every sense was suddenly set on edge. Nervous energy coursed through his body. He was frozen in that spot, yet with every fiber of his being he wanted to flee from that location as though from the gates of hell. The analytical part of his mind recognized what he was feeling as an overstimulation of his amygdale, triggering his fight or flight response, but that analytical part of his mind was rapidly losing control over his body. With a herculean effort he resisted the urge to turn and run. On the ground next to him, Ngarayap quivered with fear, her breathing ragged, her hands clenching and unclenching on the tree branch in front of her so tightly the branch snapped.

The militants, seemingly unaffected by the fear, calmly marched out of the tree line toward the village. An ungodly wail reached Maroodiga Cawlan’s ears from the direction of Yoonis, and he thought he saw figures running in all directions through the forest. With the sound, Ngarayap leapt to her feet, turned, and ran headlong into the forest. Many of the villagers were his friends and family! They were in terror, under assault! Maroodiga Cawlan remained rooted in place, fighting against the urge to run, for a moment longer before he, too, turned to flee after Ngarayap. The screams from the village pursued him as he raced through the forest, only barely avoiding crashing into the trees, the sound of his rout akin to a herd of stampeding elephants.

Maroodiga Cawlan loped through the forest, putting kilometers between himself and the village in a matter of minutes. A flash of red caught his eye as he overtook Ngarayap, bent over almost double with her hands on her knees, panting for breath. Maroodiga Cawlan took a deep breath himself and felt the adrenaline rush finally fade away, leaving him unexpectedly drained. Looking around, he found himself staring at the pool of water at the base of the waterfall behind which their Temple hid. In their fright, they had run the full five kilometers from the village back to the base of the trail leading to the Temple’s entrance.

“What – what was that?” Ngarayap gasped, putting a hand on his arm to steady herself.

He shook his head, bewildered. “I don’t know,” he replied hesitantly. “But it was almost _certainly_ a miraculous.”

She gave him a look of surprise. “An Atlantean Miraculous? Here? But which?”

“I can’t know for sure,” he answered, leading the way up the trail toward the waterfall. “But I hope one of my predecessors will know.”

* * *

It was 45 minutes later when Mohamed finally settled into the chair in his office/lab, a cup of strong black coffee in his hands. Mnemmi had disappeared to her nest in the corner of the office with a bag of peanuts which she was quietly eating, a somber look in her eyes. He sighed. It was late in the day for coffee – he probably wouldn’t get to sleep for a while after drinking this – but, then, after that day’s events he didn’t know when or even if he would be able to sleep anyways. He needed something to steady his nerves, and he needed something that would not mess with his thinking as he considered his next move.

The news from Yoonis had not been good.

Guardian-Novice Aadan had gone down to check on the village while he and Ngarayap recovered from the experience. A handful of the people had escaped into the forest, including Mohamed’s own mother; Aadan had helped them set up a temporary camp where the militants would not be able to find them. Unfortunately, the majority of the villagers had been captured. His sister and her family, as well as most of the captured villagers had been allowed to remain in the village. However, Dekha, Haji, Farah, and all the captured girls of the village over a certain age had been taken as prisoners back to the warlord’s camp. The threat to the village girls – daughters of Mohamed’s friends and relatives – was bad enough. But the militants had targeted Dekha and Haji specifically. Unless they chose to renounce, if the militants really _were_ after the miraculous…

There was no other choice. With a sigh of resignation he pressed a button on his computer, and the screen immediately shifted to show a red-and-black yin-yang symbol. Less than a minute later, the screen resolved to show the head and shoulders of a young woman with a high blonde ponytail. She appeared to be in a large sitting room, looking down at him on a cell phone. “Miss Bourgeois,” he greeted her in English with a polite nod.

“Mohamed,” she replied, giving him a small smile. “It has been far too long. How are you?”

“I am… well,” he responded hesitantly. “My thanks to you and Pegasus for the opportunity to examine some of your alien artifacts for myself; they have proved most illuminating. And as a result I may have solved one of Pegasus’ greatest challenges: I believe I may have found a way to emulate the Shunjar superconductor material using some of the minerals available in Cal Madow. It will require further testing, but it has shown promise, even though the current compound still requires a cooler environment.”

“You will have to repeat all of that for Pegasus at some point,” observed Chloe in some amusement, “but I assume he will be pleased to hear it. He keeps saying he needs more superconductive wiring for something with the space-planes – or at least I _think_ that’s what he said…”

“He will have it,” Mohamed assured her.

Chloe sighed. “I am sure you did not just call to let me know about your sciencey mumbo-jumbo – otherwise you would have called Pegasus directly.” She tilted her head slightly. “What is going on?”

Mohamed twisted up his mouth in distaste. As much as it pained him to admit it… “We are dealing with a… situation… here which I believe may be beyond my team’s ability to handle on our own.”

Chloe nodded. “Tell me.”

“There is a warlord called Popo with a camp approximately fifteen kilometers from our temple,” he explained briskly. “We have dealt with other petty warlords and their petty fiefdoms in the past, but this one is different. He has been targeting the village closest to our Temple, and I fear he may be attempting to discover our location. We would be able to handle this on our own, but for one problem: he has been amassing weapons and powers. We – Nawal and I, that is – witnessed two of them today. One of his men was carrying what I believe to have been a Shunjar energy rifle. And another of his militants used a miraculous.”

Chloe’s eyes shot wide open at that. “A miraculous? Are you sure?”

Mohamed nodded firmly. “I couldn’t be certain at first, but I used Memory Trunk to consult the memories of the previous Elephant users. One of my Atlantean predecessors had felt this effect before in a training exercise. I am now certain that Popo must have found the Dhole Miraculous.”

Chloe’s mouth set in a hard line. “Right. So how can the Heroes of Paris assist you with this?”

“I believe the Monkey Miraculous would be most helpful to us in this situation,” suggested Mohamed. “His ability to disrupt special abilities may be our best chance to counteract this Dhole Miraculous user and stop Popo’s men.”

Chloe pursed her lips. “The Monkey, you say? Are you sure you don’t want the Cat or Ladybug? Maybe the Fox? Or even the _Dog_?”

Mohamed shook his head. “I have no doubt any of them could assist, but what we really need is someone to counter the Dhole directly.”

Chloe’s nostrils flared slightly. “Very well. Let me make a phone call and see what I can do.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “Maroodiga Cawlan” is Somali for “Grey Elephant.” “Ngarayap” is Sudanese for “Creeper.” Or at least that’s what Google Translate tells me; it’s not overly clear with some African languages (reverse translating their translations gave completely different English translations for some words). Which is unfortunate for a story that (apart from the next chapter and the last chapter) takes place entirely in Africa… So if you actually know Somali, Sudanese, or Oromo (the languages that appear the most in this story), please let me know!
> 
> Ngarayap/Nawal holds the Ant Miraculous.


	2. Chapter 2

In Kim’s opinion, today couldn’t get any better. He had almost zero homework for the weekend – Max had helped him get most of it done during their shared study hall at the end of the day. Practice was canceled for the weekend because they’d done so well in their last tournament and didn’t have another one for a few weeks. He had managed to beat Alix in their race after school. The sun was shining, with not a cloud in the sky, on one of the first really cool afternoons of autumn. And he was taking a walk along the Champ de Mars hand-in-hand with his girlfriend.

Ondine squeezed his hand and looked up at him softly. He smiled back. To think that after everything they had been through together, he could really say she was his girlfriend! Yes, they had been on a couple dates after he found out about her crush – her getting Akumatized and sinking Paris for him had been a hell of a love declaration. They’d had fun together, and Kim hadn’t especially been interested in dating anyone else, but they hadn’t been overly serious at the time. Then last year they had drifted apart, thanks in part to his suddenly-busy schedule as a fulltime hero – how Adrien and Marinette had managed on their own for so long was beyond him. Of course, the fact that he had come to Adrien’s defense when Ondine took out all her Hawk Moth anger on him last fall hadn’t exactly helped their relationship: she hadn’t spoken to him for a month after that. But this summer they had started spending more time together while working at the pool, and suddenly… this. Why had he resisted it so much when this just felt so right? Kim looked down at their intertwined fingers, then back up into her face, and wagged his eyebrows. “So what would you do if I climb to the top of the Eiffel Tower?”

“You’re such a goof!” she giggled, covering her mouth with her free hand. “If you tried that, I would probably try not to watch.”

He smirked. Little did she know… “Oh, come on. What?”

She put a finger to her chin in thought. “Well, it would never happen, so why not?” She raised an eyebrow. “I would let you plan our next date entirely and not tell me anything about what we’re doing beforehand.”

“ _Any_ date?” he asked. _This could get interesting…_

“Any date.” She nodded, a somewhat nervous look in her eyes.

Kim chuckled. “How about skydiving?”

She gave him a contemplative look. “I’ve never tried it before, but why not?”

“Then what about… lava swimming in an active volcano?”

She rolled her eyes. “Sure.”

“Wrestling a sea dragon?”

She raised an eyebrow at him doubtfully. “Only if you can find one.” She smirked. “But you get to wrestle it first!”

Kim chuckled. _I wonder if I could get Ryoku to wrestle me…_ They walked quietly for a few minutes and stopped near one of the support legs of the Eiffel Tower. Kim leaned against it, and Ondine leaned against him, wrapping her arms around his chest in a hug. She sighed. “I’m excited for tomorrow,” she murmured, eyes closed.

“I am, too,” he assured her, grinning. “I’ve been to Nuit Blanche a couple times, but never _actually_ stayed up all night for it – or at least not when there wasn’t a bet going!”

“I hear there are a few new artists with pieces to display,” she told him eagerly. “A couple are even ones we know from lycée! And it’s supposed to be a gorgeous night!”

Kim rested his head on her hair. While he wasn’t as interested in art as Ondine, he could at least appreciate it for her. And it was a chance for them to spend more time together. And Alix had bet him that she could see more art installations than him over the course of the night. “I can’t wait!”

Ondine tilted her head up for a kiss, and Kim leaned down to meet her. Their lips were centimeters apart when Kim’s phone suddenly went off with an all-too-familiar alert. He closed his eyes and sighed in annoyance, leaning his forehead against hers. “What is that tone for?” she wondered in confusion. “It doesn’t go off a lot, but you’re never happy to hear it.”

He snorted. “Reflex.” With a groan he looked at the caller ID: “Sent-Bee.” She was giving the option of a video call, but he hit voice only and held it to his ear. “What do you want, Chloe?”

She scoffed. “What kind of greeting is that, jock boy? I swear…” she muttered.

“I’m kind of in the middle of something here, so…” He looked down at Ondine to see a question in her eyes, but shook his head.

“Ridiculous,” Chloe grumbled, clucking her tongue.

“So what do you want, Chlo?”

She snorted. “What do you think? I want _you_. For the weekend.”

He furrowed his eyebrows and cocked his head to the side in bewilderment. “Um… I’m taken? And I’m busy?”

“Don’t be an idiot,” she retorted, groaning in annoyance. “I mean I need you for the weekend for Heroes of Paris business. We’re leaving the moment you get to Headquarters. If everything goes well, we’ll be back by Monday.”

“A ‘please’ would be nice…” he told her curtly. “Why me?”

“Because for some reason the leader of the Somali Temple requested the Monkey specifically,” explained Chloe shortly. “And I sure as _hell_ am not going to disappoint Mohamed, considering that I’ve spent the last three months trying to convince him that cooperation between his temple and our group is a _good_ thing for him, and this is the first time he’s actually _asked_ us for anything. So I’m _not_ going to let _you_ mess up all _my_ hard work! Got that, Monkey Brain?”

“Fine, so it _has_ to be me for some stupid reason,” grumbled Kim, frowning. “Can’t this wait until _next_ weekend? I mean, I have a date tomorrow night.”

“Uh huh,” Chloe deadpanned. “Oh, how silly of me! Why, of _course_ we can hold off for another week to go down and help the Somali Miraculous Team with their problem so you can go on your _date_ tomorrow night,” she told him sarcastically. “But tell you what, just as soon as we’re off the phone here, why don’t _you_ call down to Somalia and tell the village full of innocent people that you are so terribly sorry you couldn’t come down this weekend to help rescue them from the psychopathic warlord who’s been tormenting them with the Miraculous of Fear because King Monkey has to go on a _date_. I’m sure the young girls he captured – all of them the same age as your date or a little younger – won’t begrudge you that, given the ‘dates’ they’ll be going on in the meantime with the small army of armed gentlemen that dragged them away from their families at gunpoint…” She let out an irritated huff. “Utterly ridiculous.”

 _Well shit._ Kim let out a heavy sigh, twisting up his mouth into an irritated grimace. He could tell exactly what she was doing. He so wanted to tell Chloe where she could shove her guilt and manipulation. But at the same time – his free hand drifted up from Ondine’s back to brush against the circlet he always wore on his brow, which he hadn’t removed since the Hawk Moth fight, when Ladybug entrusted it to him permanently. He could feel Xuppu’s slight weight in his backpack. The miraculous brought with it a level of responsibility, and he couldn’t just ignore it. Adrien and Marinette continued to trust him with the Monkey Miraculous because they trusted him to put other people’s needs ahead of his own. He couldn’t just ignore people in need – even if they were a continent away. And how could he go on a date with Ondine, knowing that he was ignoring a group of girls who might _also_ have had dates tomorrow but who needed his help right now? What about _them_ and _their_ loved ones?

It wasn’t even a choice.

After several moments of silence, Chloe’s voice came through the phone again. “M-kay? Now make your apologies, clear your schedule, pack a bag, and get your ass over to Headquarters, KM. I’ll meet you there in thirty minutes or less.”

He groaned irritably. “Fine – wait, _you_ ’ll meet me? You’re coming, too?”

Chloe scoffed. “Of course,” she replied sardonically. “There’s no way in _hell_ I’m letting you go off to Somalia all on your own to mess things up. Now you’d _better_ not be late or I’ll sic Bee on you!”

The call disconnected before Kim could answer. He sighed heavily and stared at his phone for a long minute before sliding it back into his pocket. Leaning his head back against the Eiffel Tower, he groaned. A soft hand on his cheek pulled his eyes down to meet Ondine’s bewildered expression. _Great._ “So how much of that did you hear?” he asked, worried.

“Enough,” she responded, pursing her lips. “What did Chloe want from you?”

Kim forced his outward expression to remain stoic while inwardly he grimaced. He really didn’t like lying to her. “Oh, Chloe just needs help with something over the weekend that came up unexpectedly. It could take the whole weekend,” he explained. He gave her a worried look. “I guess that means we have to reschedule out date for tomorrow – could we go on Monday instead? Nath said he and some of the other artists are leaving their works out for the whole week. And I think some of the dance troupes are planning to have shows all weekend plus on Monday.”

Ondine’s face fell. “But we decided to do this tomorrow night specifically _because_ we were both going to be free.”

Kim nodded, hating himself for putting that expression on her face. “I know,” he sighed heavily. “I really wish I could get out of this, but I… I just _can’t_. I _tried_. But it has to be me. And it can’t wait.”

“Oh. Ok.”

Kim could see moisture pooling in the corner of her eye. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, putting his hands on the sides of her face, flicking the tears away with a finger. “Maybe you could go with Nadine? Or maybe Aurore? Alix is planning to be there.”

Ondine muttered something under her breath. She sighed. “I _could_ go with them… but I really wanted to go with you.”

“I know.” He nodded sadly. “I would much rather go with you to Nuit Blanche than help Chloe with this thing. But it has to be me.”

She pursed her lips and narrowed her eyes suspiciously. Putting her hands on his chest she pushed away slightly. “Because when Chloe Bourgeois says ‘jump,’ you always jump.”

He frowned. “That’s not fair.”

She scoffed. “*cough*Dark Cupid*cough*”

He stared at her in confusion.

Ondine sighed and looked away guiltily. “I know you had a crush on her back in collège.”

“Yeah, but… that was two-and-a-half years ago. That was before we were ever together, before I even knew you liked me.” He placed his hands on her waist and squeezed gently, drawing her eyes up to meet his. “Babe, _you_ ’re the only girl I have any interest in,” he assured her staring into her eyes and willing her to understand. “Believe me, if there was _any_ way I could get out of this to spend the weekend with you, I _would_. But they need me. But I promise you, when I get done with this, we’ll spend the whole night out on the town.”

Ondine nodded in resignation, but Kim could still see the hurt in her eyes. She leaned up and kissed him quickly on the lips, pulling away before he could react. Placing her lips up against his ear she whispered, “Don’t have _too_ much fun without me this weekend.”

Kim snorted. “Not much chance of me having _fun_ this weekend…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nuit Blanche is an arts festival that takes place in a lot of different cities around the world on the first weekend in October.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Although there is nothing explicit, this chapter earns a trigger warning for Rape/Non-Con elements. Um… Merry Christmas?

As the rest of the soldiers marched back to camp, Abdi lagged behind. The trees cast long shadows in the pale light of the waning moon and few stars visible. In the gloom, Abdi could imagine all kinds of creatures watching him, waiting to pounce on him, just as he and his companions had pounced on that village only a couple hours earlier. And a part of him would even welcome that if it were to happen: it was no less than they deserved for their actions today.

What was he doing? The village they had attacked had been no different from his own; the women and children fleeing from his Fear-y could as easily have been his own mother or Aisha. The man with the only rifle in the village, whom he had whipped into submission until the man’s back was a bloody wreck and he had passed out from shock, could easily have been his own father. His father, who had died unarmed, trying desperately to protect Abdi and Aisha from the soldiers who had raided their village and dragged their friends and family away to be sold into slavery or worse. Ahead of him, the soldiers herded a small throng of villagers back to camp, mostly boys and girls around his own age. He didn’t have to imagine the fate that would await the girls on their arrival; it was the same fate to which his own sister had been condemned on their capture – by the same group of soldiers that now included Abdi himself.

He sighed dejectedly and looked down to find a pair of blood-red eyes staring up at him. Growll nosed against his palm and licked his fingers. Abdi allowed himself a small smile and rubbed the Kwami’s head affectionately with one finger. “I know it’s hard,” the Kwami told him, his ears drooping sadly. “Mine is not an easy miraculous to bear, especially in the service of one such as we serve now.”

Abdi frowned. “This village we attacked today didn’t put up any defense – not really. They were just poor villagers. No one fought back. No one even _could_ fight back.”

“That is what Fear-y does,” explained Growll, his ears drooping. “It breaks the enemy’s will to fight. If we had fought _for_ the village, Goota-Lolaa and the rest would have fled in terror before us and we could have saved the village from them. But because we fought _against_ the village, they had no chance. To fight us would have been fighting against fear itself.”

“I wish…” He sighed. “I wish I didn’t have to do this.”

“You can always turn our Fear-y on Popo himself and flee with Aisha,” Growll suggested, raising an eyebrow.

Abdi scoffed. “And if I failed? What would he do to her if I attacked him and _lost_?”

“Perhaps he would do what you fear,” Growll conceded. He rubbed Abdi’s thumb. “You care about your sister. That is what makes you different from so many others.”

“Didn’t your previous holders care?”

“Not for anyone else.” Growll shook his head sadly. “Or at least not any of my holders in living memory. Oh, the holders I’ve had since then cared for _themselves_ , for what they could do _to_ others with my power. But they were simply thrilled to have found the miraculous. They _craved_ the power. They couldn’t imagine using fear for anything _but_ their own goals.”

Abdi snorted derisively and ran his thumb along the band of the ring before pressing the pad against the sharp claw on the end of the ring. “If you weren’t my only friend in the world right now, I would wish I’d never been given this miraculous.”

Growll nodded sadly and rubbed up against his palm. The dim outline of the camp was barely visible through the trees ahead of them, the few lights illuminating it flickering against the gloom as though they were liable to be snuffed out. “I will go and check in on Aisha.”

“Thanks.”

As the Kwami disappeared, Abdi was alone with his thoughts. He _could_ run away – just take Aisha and Growll and flee into the forest. They wouldn’t even have to pass the sentries at the gate; they could slip through the hole in the fence and be hours away before they were missed. Then Popo could never force him to do what he’d done today ever again. But if they were caught… There was no other choice. Steeling his nerves, he entered the stockade. His nose turned up at the smell of rotten eggs that infused the camp. He picked his way carefully down the central lane between the rows of tents until he arrived on the edge of the parade field in front of Popo’s tent. A single lantern sat on a pole near the entrance to the field, but rather than illuminate the proceedings it only served to cast ominous shadows across the whole assembly.

The group of soldiers crowding the field parted to allow Abdi through, pushing him forward to stand next to their leader, Goota-Lolaa, directly in front of Popo’s high-backed chair. Goota-Lolaa stood head-and-shoulders above the rest, his dark fatigues a couple shades lighter than his midnight-black skin. The only bright spots to the man were the grey machete at his waist and the streamlined silver rifle strapped across his back. All the soldiers feared him. And yet, even _he_ trembled in front of Popo.

The warlord himself was flanked by two others. One, Hunda Beekaa, was a thin, wizened old man rumored to have been with Popo since before he began amassing his power. His skin pallid and milky with age, eyes clouded and rheumy, Hunda Beeka never wore anything but his strange robes and headdress. The shaman propped himself up beside Popo’s chair with a crooked walking stick capped by a sun-bleached skull, though he didn’t appear to need it. The other “person” beside Popo was a creature of nightmare: a tall, greenish reptilian monster called the Bulguu, the sight of whom sent a shiver down Abdi’s spine. Taller even than Goota-Lolaa, the Bulguu could rend flesh from bone with the terrible talons on his hands and feet, to say nothing of the rows of sharp teeth lining his mouth. Yet neither of them inspired the same fear as the warlord himself. Tall and slender, skin blacker even than Goota-Lolaa’s, his face shadowed by the weak lamplight, Popo sat his chair as a throne while contemplating his soldiers. His hard eyes betrayed nothing of his emotions. The firm set of his lips did not brook any argument from those he commanded. He didn’t carry any weapons; he never appeared to need any himself. Abdi forced back the bile that rose to his throat in Popo’s presence.

“Why are you late?” Goota-Lolaa demanded, eyeing Abdi suspiciously.

Abdi forced his knees not to shake and replied, evenly, “I am sorry. I was tired after the raid and lagged behind the others.”

Popo fixed his eyes on Abdi. “Remember, child, more than just _your_ life depends on your strict obedience,” to hold him, his voice barely above a whisper.

Abdi fell to his hands and knees. “Yes, sir. I understand. It will not happen again.” He rubbed his ring for comfort as Growll phased out of the ground behind his arm and gave him an encouraging nod. He released a shaky breath and rose to his feet as Growll disappeared into his shirt, curling up against Abdi’s chest for comfort.

Popo turned away from Abdi and fixed his unblinking gaze on the small throng of villagers. Standing up and looking closer, Abdi realized there was only one boy in the group, a teen who looked around his own age. The boy stood with an older couple with white hair, backs bowed with age, who held him close by the shoulders. A half-dozen girls, the oldest a few years older than Abdi and the youngest only a year or so younger than him at about 12, huddled together, looking around at the armed soldiers surrounding them with wide-eyed fear. Abdi felt sick.

“These are them?” asked Popo emotionlessly.

Goota-Lolaa nodded.

“And the villagers understand the consequences for their sisters and daughters if they cause… trouble?”

Goota-Lolaa ran a finger along the blade of his machete. “I made those consequences _very_ clear before our return.”

“Very well.” Popo waved his hand dismissively to the guards, who grabbed the girls by the arm, dragging them away. One screamed in desperation. Abdi had to resist the urge to close his eyes; showing weakness now wouldn’t do anything but give Popo an excuse.

Turning to the last three villagers standing in front of him, Popo folded his hands and fixed them with his piercing gaze. “Now which one of you is it…?” he mused, his eyes moving from one face to the other. “Not the child, certainly… Hunda Beekaa?”

Behind Popo, Hunda Beekaa’s eyes rolled up into his skull and he held out his walking stick in front of himself. He stood stock still for a moment, then his arms began to tremble. Slowly his stick turned to point at the woman. Popo nodded, and two soldiers stepped forward and grabbed the woman by the arms, pulling her away from the man and boy. She stumbled and nearly fell over her feet before they caught her. Her knees trembled so badly she could barely walk. The man opened his mouth to speak, but the woman jerked her head abruptly, and he froze, holding the boy’s shoulders so tightly his knuckles turned white.

“Now,” Popo began, staring into the woman’s eyes without blinking, “you will tell me everything you know. I have searched long and hard for you. I know the secret you guard, and I will have it from you, one way or the other.”

The woman, hunched over with age, stared at him in wide-eyed confusion, lower lip trembling with fear. “I’m sure I don’t know what you mean,” she tittered in a tremulous voice. Her arms shook violently with uncontrolled tremors. “I am nothing but a simple village storyteller who spins tales for the children.”

Popo’s nostrils flared but he said nothing more, merely staring into the woman’s eyes with that same penetrating gaze. Abdi held his breath.

After what felt like hours, Popo snapped his fingers, and Hunda Beekaa raised his stick above his head. His eyes closed, and he began to chant in a language Abdi couldn’t understand. The woman remained standing a moment longer before her knees started shaking even worse. She set her jaw fiercely, her forehead creasing from the strain. The Bulguu flinched visibly, his eyelids widening. Abdi couldn’t turn away, staring as the woman became wreathed in darkness the louder Hunda Beekaa chanted. She raised her arms to either side, threw her head back, and screamed in agony, writhing in pain. The boy shouted something. The old man grabbed the boy, hugging him tight, his mouth hanging open in horror. The Bulguu stepped forward, but Popo raised a hand to stop him. Abdi nearly threw up.

Finally Hunda Beekaa stopped his chanting and the woman fell to the ground on her hands and knees as the darkness dissipated. The woman took in shallow, panting breaths, eyes closed, her hands clenching and unclenching in the dirt.

Popo leaned forward, eyes lighting up with desire. “Now… do you have anything to say? Or should I turn my attention to your family to loosen your lips?”

The woman’s head tilted up. She stared up at Popo through narrowed eyes and pushed herself to her feet. She inhaled deeply and released the breath slowly, steeling herself. No longer was her back curved with age, no longer did tremors rack her limbs; she stood erect, pain and weakness gone, meeting Popo’s gaze fearlessly. “You will _never_ find what you seek!” she hissed, eyes ablaze with defiance. In a loud, clear voice, she intoned, “I, Dekha Samatar, hereby renounce my Guardianship.” A flash of blinding light emanated from her, leaving spots in Abdi’s vision, and the woman fell to the ground. Slowly she sat up and looked around her in confusion. “Where am I?” Finding Popo still staring down at her, she asked in confusion, “And who are you?”

Growll poked his head out over Abdi’s collar and stared at the woman, eyes wide. “No way…” whispered the Kwami, soft enough that only Abdi could hear, his voice a mix of horror and awe.

The boy hugged the old man tightly as the man’s shoulders were wracked with sobs.

Popo turned away from the woman in disgust. Without looking he flicked his wrist, and Goota-Lolaa stepped forward next to the woman and unsheathed his machete, grabbing the woman’s hair and wrenching her head back. Abdi let out an involuntary gasp.

“But Master,” the Bulguu pleaded, “what is the point of killing her?”

Popo strode back to his tent. “She is no longer of use to me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The villain names in this chapter all come from Oromo:  
> Goota-Lolaa – “Warrior”  
> Hunda Beekaa – “Wizard”  
> Bulguu – “Monster”
> 
> In case it’s not clear, this is how Guardianship works in the “Mind Games”-verse. You can have multiple Guardians at a time. You can retire as a Guardian and retain your memories. But in the event of capture, the Guardians still have the “nuclear option” of renouncing their Guardianship and losing their memories in order to preserve the secret of the Miraculous.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All translations come from Google Translate because I don’t speak Somali.

Kim stepped off the elevator plate into the Heroes of Paris Headquarters below the Agreste Mansion, a duffel bag slung over his shoulder, to find Chloe pacing anxiously from one side of the butterfly garden to the other, watching Bee-atrice chase butterflies around the garden. On catching sight of him, she made a beeline straight toward him, Bee trotting along at her heels.

“Finally.” Chloe grabbed his arm and dragged him across the room. “You’re utterly ridiculous, making me wait! What took you so long?”

Kim snorted and wagged his eyebrows at her. “You know…”

Chloe gave him a deadpan look and arched her eyebrow at him. “I’m pretty sure it wouldn’t take you that long, jock-boy.”

Xuppu emerged from Kim’s duffel and cackled. “It doesn’t.”

Kim glared at the Kwami. “I’m this close to ordering you to eat nothing but sauerkraut for the next century!”

Xuppu stuck his tongue out at Kim, rolled over onto his back in midair, and laughed uproariously. At their feet, Bee yapped eagerly, bouncing up and down in anticipation and following the Kwami with her eyes. In spite of himself, Kim smiled on seeing their infectious excitement.

“I had to actually _pack_ something. I don’t exactly have a go-bag next to the door on the off-chance someone will drag me off to Africa on a moment’s notice,” Kim pointed out.

Chloe hummed contemplatively. “Perhaps that’s something we need to change,” she observed slowly, more to herself than to him.

“And on top of that I had to tell Ondine I couldn’t make the date we’d _literally just planned_ ,” Kim grumbled. The look in her face when he’d had to cancel… Chloe started laughing but put her hand to her mouth and coughed a couple times. “Something funny about that, Bourgeois?”

Chloe rolled her eyes, knelt down, and picked up Bee in one hand and the handle of her suitcase in the other. Straightening up she shrugged. “It’s nice that you have a girlfriend and all, _King Monkey_. Just remember what’s important here.”

He frowned at her. “I get that; why do you think I’m here?” he asked. “But still…” He sighed. “At least we rescheduled it for Monday.”

She cocked her head. “Aren’t you scheduled for patrol on Monday?”

Kim face-palmed. “Crap. I completely forgot. Ondine’s gonna kill me.”

“I could help her!” Xuppu volunteered, snickering.

Kim glared at the Kwami. “Not helping, Banana-Breath!”

“Well you’d better think of _something_ ,” Chloe told him. She stopped in front of the inert portal ring and held out her hand before thinking better of it. Turning to Kim she narrowed her eyes and warned, “You’d better be on your best behavior this weekend…”

“Or?”

“Or we’ll find out whether it’s possible for you to drink an entire waterfall!” Chloe placed her hand on the palm reader, which blinked green, before pressing a couple buttons on the screen to select their destination.

“What are you talking about? I’m _always_ on my best behavior!” He grinned. “So how much do you bet I _could_ drink a waterfall?”

Chloe glared at him as the portal ring whirred to life and a white film appeared inside the ring before resolving. Without hesitating, Kim followed Chloe through the portal and stepped out into a brightly-lit room with smooth white stone walls. A tall, muscular man with mahogany skin and short black hair stood in the middle of the room with his hands clasped behind his back. As they entered, he stuck out his hand, giving them each a firm handshake.

The man’s mouth was set in a thin line. “Chloe, thank you for coming. And you must be King Monkey?”

He nodded. “Kim.”

“Mohamed.” The other man spread an arm to encompass the room. “I’m the leader of our Miraculous team. Welcome to Somalia.”

Kim looked around, taking in the surroundings. The room was set up with a utilitarian desk and chair against one wall, a computer sitting open on the desk. Opposite the desk was a long metal table that appeared pocked and burned in spots from something. On one end of the table Kim could see a welding torch and pair of pliers; near the center was a chemistry set next to a tray loaded with mineral samples. Something bubbled on a Bunsen burner alongside a line of strange devices. Bee padded over to the table and sniffed curiously at something on the floor. Above the table was a cabinet full of chemicals. Close to the exit Kim saw another cabinet with vials of differently-colored liquids, each labeled with a different name in a language Kim didn’t recognize. He shrugged. “Not bad.”

“‘Not bad’?” Mohamed scoffed. “Do you know _anything_?”

“I’ve been trying to figure that one out for years,” Chloe observed wryly, shaking her head and rubbing her temples before throwing a glare in Kim’s direction.

“This is the best centrifuge in Somalia,” Mohamed told him, pointing to one of the tools on the table. “With what’s in my lab, I can produce almost any compound you could imagine. Including rocket fuel.” He sighed in annoyance. “Pegasus was so much more impressed.”

Kim laughed. “Yeah, that sounds like Pegasus,” he agreed, grinning. “I’m more of a sports guy myself.”

Mohamed raised an eyebrow and led them out of the office into a hallway just wide enough for two people to walk abreast. The first doorway they passed opened into another narrow hallway with several doors on either side. “Down there are the dormitories,” Mohamed explained, waving absently. “The temple does not have too many extra rooms, but we at least have enough for each of you to have your own while you’re here.”

A little way down the corridor Mohamed stepped into a small room with exercise equipment lining the walls. Only one person was in the gym, a muscular woman a couple years older than Mohamed with skin a shade lighter and shoulder-length brown hair. She racked her free weights and grabbed a towel from the floor. Wiping the perspiration from her face she sat up and gave Kim and Chloe an evaluating look before glancing down at the puppy sitting next to Chloe’s leg. “Waa kuwan reer Yurub?” she asked, glancing over at Mohamed.

He nodded. “They are. I’m sure you remember Chloe, and this is Kim, their Monkey Miraculous user.” He turned to Kim. “Maaza is Roqonsa Saada, the Wildebeest Miraculous holder.”

“Um… hi.” Kim waved. “How much weight can you press? My max is 150 kilos – un-transformed, that is.”

Maaza arched an eyebrow and gave him an evaluating look. “Perhaps we will test that while you are here…” She took a long pull of water and moved over to a leg press.

Mohamed gestured for them to follow and led them out of the gym and down past the corridor leading to the temple entrance, opposite the large meeting room, and into a room filled with books. An old man with grey hair sat in an armchair next to a floor lamp with a book in his hands. He looked up on seeing them and smiled. “I hoped you would bring your guests for a visit!”

“Good evening, Master Said.” Mohamed inclined his head slowly and introduced them. He looked around in some confusion. “I had hoped to find Nawal here as well.”

“She and Shadya asked permission to go and check on the village,” replied Said. “They should return shortly.”

Mohamed’s eyes widened. “You allowed them to leave? Just the two of them!?! And with this rogue miraculous on the loose!?!”

Said gave him a sympathetic smile. “Yes, Mohamed, I gave permission for a miraculous user and a Guardian Initiate to gather information for your team,” he pointed out. “She has earned our trust. She can take care of herself.”

Mohamed frowned darkly. “We thought the same of Dania, also.”

“Who?” Kim wondered, eyes shifting between them in confusion.

Mohamed’s jaw clenched. “My cousin. Mid Yar. The previous Ant.” He strode out of the room.

Kim turned to follow, but Said shook his head. “Leave him be for now,” the Guardian told them, sighing. “It was two years ago when Dania was killed in action. They were close, grew up together before I recruited them both ten years ago. She was the first – so far only – teammate that Mohamed has lost, and he did not take it well. At first he did not want to choose another holder for the Ant Miraculous, but I eventually convinced him it was foolhardy to have an incomplete team – and that has certainly proven true now. Even with three miraculous users, this warlord is proving to be a greater threat than our Temple can handle easily on our own. Your presence here is evidence enough of that.”

Chloe gave him a curious look. “You said she was _his_ first teammate killed. Not yours?”

Said shook his head. “Do you learn about the Somali-Ethiopian War in your schools?”

Chloe shook her head, but Kim frowned pensively. “Wasn’t that like ten years ago?”

“We lost three miraculous users in as many years,” explained Said, blinking away a tear. “First it was the Wildebeest, killed while observing events in Bandiradley. According to reports, he was trying to protect a group of civilians. I was there to recover his miraculous, and while I was there I hopped across the border to Dudub and chose Maaza as his replacement – I had hoped an Ethiopian holder would help position us to better mediate the conflict. The Elephant and Ant took her to Mogadishu just before the battle there. She survived, but the two of them died together, leaving her to reclaim their miraculous and return to the temple alone. It was not until after the Ethiopian troops withdrew that I felt it was safe to leave the temple and find new holders – and even then it was not safe to travel further than Yoonis.”

“Four miraculous users killed in fifteen years,” Mohamed interrupted. Kim spun around to find him leaning against the doorway, his mouth set in a hard line. “And on a team of three.” He turned to Chloe with a rueful snort. “I trust you can understand my reluctance to commit my people to help you with _your_ problems?”

“Damn, dude.” Kim whistled softly. “That’s seriously rough.”

Chloe nodded slowly. “I understand,” she told him, her jaw muscles clenching and unclenching. “And I’m sorry. That’s why we’re here. We can help you, and maybe these tragedies don’t happen.”

“Perhaps,” he allowed. “I only hope the assistance isn’t too late for my family and friends.” A pale green Kwami with wide ears and a trunk flew up to Mohamed and whispered something in his ear. He nodded and pushed away from the door, beckoning for them to follow. “I asked Mnemmi to keep an eye out for them. Nawal and Shadya are almost to the waterfall.”

Kim followed him back down the hallway and into the entryway, Chloe holding Bee-atrice to her chest beside him. As they approached the temple’s entrance, the sound of pounding water grew louder and louder until it almost drowned out all other thought. Kim could smell water spray on the air and feel the tiniest droplets landing on his arms. Then they rounded the last bend, and Kim was staring at the back of a waterfall. His eyes widened in surprise, and he nearly slipped on a puddle of water.

“Careful there!” shouted Mohamed over the water’s roar. “It’s nonslip, but it can still get wet!”

Just inside the waterfall was a narrow path, right up against the water’s edge. Two girls, a year or two younger than Kim, stepped out of the darkness outside and into view, just inside the waterfall, and walked over hand-in-hand to meet them. A bright red Kwami with a pair of antennae sticking out of the middle of her forehead sat on one girl’s shoulder. On seeing Chloe, she smiled brightly, rushed over, and gave her a quick hug. The three Kwamis flitted over to the other side of the entryway, whispering together earnestly.

“Chloe! It’s amazing to see you again!” the girl – Nawal – gushed as they backed away from the waterfall until the roar had abated some. “Thank you so much for the purse – I almost don’t want to even use it it’s so nice!”

Chloe shrugged. “It’s really nothing; I’ll send you a waterproof one when we get back. Then you won’t have to worry about ruining it whenever you leave this cave!”

“That would be so amazing!” She petted Bee’s head and giggled as the puppy licked her hand.

“What news is there?” asked Mohamed.

Nawal’s face fell. “The soldiers stayed a little while longer after taking the village – that leader monster had a ‘demonstration’ for the villagers of what would happen if they resist. He…” She sniffled and fell silent, shoulders slumping. The other girl, Shadya, put a hand on Nawal’s shoulder, tears in her eyes.

“Who was it?” asked Mohamed, eyes narrowing in anger.

Nawal shook her head. “I–I don’t know. Not Hala–I know that much. Your sister and her family are all safe, though one of the people we talked to said that Ali got hurt in the attack. I wanted to check with Aziza, but I was afraid to draw attention to her. I think one of the soldiers realized I wasn’t from around here – he was watching us pretty closely, but we lost him before leaving the village.”

“And the hostages?”

“No news. They haven’t returned any of them.”

Mohamed sighed heavily. Chloe’s nostrils flared and she hugged Bee tighter. Just from what he’d heard, Kim could guess what was happening to those hostages. And it couldn’t be good. He clenched his jaw. This village was innocent; these people didn’t do anything to deserve this! This was why he was here right now and not back in Paris: to help these people. But right now there was nothing they could do.

“The people we talked to didn’t know anything more about Guardians Dekha and Haji,” Shadya added worriedly. “And they took Farah, too.”

Mohamed groaned. Kim gave him a confused look, and he explained. “Farah’s father was the Ant. And his mother was Arba Marfata, the previous Elephant.”

“Does he know anything about the temple?” Chloe asked, eyes narrowing in concern.

Mohamed shook his head. “He was barely two when his parents died,” he answered. “After that Dekha and Haji moved out of the temple with him. But still… we were supposed to keep him safe.” He let out a breath and turned to the two girls. “Did you see the Dhole Miraculous user?”

Nawal shook her head. “The last time anyone in the village saw him was during the attack.”

Mohamed nodded and turned to lead them away from the entryway. “We’ll have to investigate further in the morning. For now, let’s get some rest.”

Although he wasn’t tired – it was only about eight back in Paris – Kim followed the rest of the group toward the dormitories. Tomorrow would be a long day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hero Names:
> 
> Roqonsa Saada – “Enraged Animal” (Sidaama)  
> Mid Yar – “Little One” (Somali)  
> Arba Marfata – “Grey Elephant” (Oromo)
> 
> Unexplained Characters:
> 
> Aziza – Mohamed’s sister who lives in Yoonis  
> Ali – Aziza’s husband  
> Hala – Aziza’s daughter


	5. Chapter 5

Abdi slept fitfully that night. After Popo had ordered a man to drag the old woman’s body out of the camp, he had instructed Abdi to place the man and boy with the other male prisoners. The body could be pressed into joining his band, but the man wasn’t worth it. The old man had walked woodenly next to Abdi, holding the boy by the shoulders in an iron grip. As they walked past the tents where the men had taken the new girls from the village, under the raucous laughter of the men they had heard a girl weeping. Abdi had clenched his jaw, trying not to remember the first time it had happened to Aisha.

Once the prisoners were settled in a tent with a group of boys they had captured from another village, Abdi had found his way back to the tent he shared with three others who had been pressed into Popo’s service around the same time as him. One, Hassan, came from the same village as Abdi. His other two bunkmates had already been asleep when Abdi crawled under his blanket for the night; Hassan had been on guard duty. Despite Growll curling up on his pillow and rubbing his paws against his cheek, Abdi tossed and turned all night.

He still could not forget the look in the old woman’s eyes as she stared down Popo. She must have known what would happen to her, but she had met her fate without flinching. When had Abdi ever seen someone defy Popo so fearlessly? Certainly he himself had never done so. He had obeyed every order Popo or Goota-Lolaa had given him, even when doing so meant he couldn’t look at his own face in the mirror for weeks afterward. But this woman had defied him. And he had killed her for it.

The next morning, Abdi woke up to find Growll already awake, a piece of dried beef in his mouth and holding a plain canjeero in his paws for Abdi. Abdi crammed the whole thing in his mouth in a single bite before shoving his feet into his boots and standing up. His bunkmates were still asleep as he slipped quietly out of the tent. The sun was just rising, and he stepped outside to find the camp already beginning to stir. Soldiers walked around in groups of one and two, some lining up for breakfast, others for the latrines. He had hardly seen Aisha in the last year; after last night, checking on her was the only thing on his mind. Abdi trailed behind a group of four who had just gotten off their guard shift and were walking toward the center of the camp to report in, laughing and talking about the hostages from the night before while they walked. As they neared the center of the camp, Abdi stifled his gag reflex; the smell of rotten eggs intensified. Popo sat in his same chair, waiting for the guards, staring forward unblinkingly. Abdi’s blood ran cold on seeing the warlord; before Popo could see him, Abdi ducked away down another row of tents, darting across the gaps as quickly as he could to avoid drawing attention. A couple of the men nodded in acknowledgement, which Abdi returned curtly. Hunda Beekaa stepped out of his own tent next to Popo’s, and Abdi swallowed hard, averting his eyes from the shaman’s gaze. Hunda Beekaa, however, ignored him and turned toward the mess area.

Abdi cut through the space between the tents and stopped next to the rear flap of Popo’s tent. He could hear the guards speaking with Popo in the parade field on the opposite side of the tent, but nothing from within. Carefully he pulled the flap back and looked down at the bed.

It was empty.

Where could Aisha be?

Abdi quickly dropped the tent flap and walked away before any of the other soldiers could notice and comment on his interest in the leader’s tent. There were fewer tents on this side of the camp, behind Popo’s tent. To one side was the truck park where they kept all of their vehicles. However, with Popo’s interest in this village, off the road and surrounded by close-set trees that the trucks wouldn’t fit between, the vehicles sat unused, waiting for their next foray beyond the forest. A trio of mechanics stood near one of the jeeps, working on something near the engine. A small cluster of soldiers had gathered around the shipping container which housed their arsenal, inspecting their rifles before moving off to the practice field on the edge of the camp, closest to the forest. The sharp report of automatic weapons from that direction indicated that some of the men had already begun their target practice. He heard a higher-pitched whine: either Goota-Lolaa or one of his lieutenants must be practicing with their strange energy weapons.

Opposite the practice field, hidden from view behind another shipping container, was a small wooden stockade pen. The last place in camp that Abdi hadn’t searched, but somewhere he and most of the other men avoided. Popo forbade anyone but himself and Goota-Lolaa from approaching that stockade. But it was the only place left where Aisha could be. So this morning Abdi walked in that direction but stopped in the shadow of the container on hearing his sister’s voice.

“Hey,” Aisha was whispering. “Are you still there?”

Abdi heard a laughing wheeze. “It’s not like I have anywhere to go, you know.”

“I’m sorry. Does–does he treat you okay?”

“I’ve been kept locked up like this for so long…” the same gravely voice responded. “Is it normal for your people to keep others trapped in cages?”

Aisha’s voice trembled. “Sometimes. Some people.” She sighed. “I’ve been in a cage of sorts, too, for the last year, ever since Popo–” Her breathing hitched. “In a way, I almost envy you _your_ cage…”

“I’m sorry.”

“Me, too. I–I feel so alone most of the time!” Aisha sobbed. “There’s no one to trust.”

“You can trust me – it’s not like there’s anyone _I_ can tell it to!”

“All my friends are gone,” Aisha whispered. Abdi leaned in closer to listen, his heart in his throat. “After–after–” She gulped. “After everything he’s done to me, I don’t know if there’s anyone left who would want me.”

Abdi closed his eyes and fought back the tears that sprang up. How could she think that? Didn’t she know that everything he did was for her? That he would love and protect her, no matter what Popo did – to either of them?

“Can I be your friend?” the voice asked. There was a pause and then, “You can call me Hoda.”

Abdi finally stepped out from behind the shipping container to find Aisha standing next to the wooden pen, leaning over the railing and speaking to what appeared to be a smaller version of the Bulguu, its scaly skin a lighter shade of green, lying on the ground and trussed by the arms and the legs. Aisha had a pail of diced beef in her hands and was tossing pieces to the other creature, which caught them in its mouth before swallowing them whole.

“Aisha?” Abdi whispered, quietly.

She jumped and spun around, standing in front of the pen and trying to shield the creature from his sight. He walked closer to her, but she shied away from him, wrapping her arms tightly around her chest.

“What are you doing here?” he asked her, eyeing the creature suspiciously.

“I was speaking to my friend,” Aisha told him, sighing and stepping to one side.

Abdi glared down at the creature. “You need to stay away from it,” he warned. “It’s not safe.”

“ _It_ has a name, and _it_ is my friend,” Aisha pointed out, eyes narrowing. “This creature actually speaks to me, actually wants to be my friend, unlike some _brothers_ I could mention…”

Abdi frowned at her, hurt. “It’s not like I have much of a choice!” He pounded his chest once. “I’ve been trying to keep you safe!”

“‘Safe’?” Aisha nearly shrieked. “ _Safe?_ Do you have any idea what Popo has done?” she demanded heatedly. “To _me_? How can you call that ‘safe’!?!”

Abdi’s lower lip trembled. “I–” He stopped and closed his eyes. “I don’t. But I do know that he would do worse if I ever disobeyed him.”

Aisha opened her mouth to retort, but shut it again, eyes wide in terror, as they heard footsteps crunching nearer. The rotten egg smell that pervaded the camp grew stronger. Hoda hissed as Popo came into view, the Bulguu trailing behind him, his taloned hands clasped together. Goota-Lolaa stood behind the Bulguu, one hand resting threateningly on the handle of his machete.

“Please, sir!” begged the Bulguu, his hands trembling in terror. “I swear to you that it will never happen again!”

“You disobeyed me last night,” Popo pointed out, his voice barely above a whisper. “You questioned me.”

The Bulguu fell backward as if shot. “But _please_! Not my daughter!”

“Sir!” Goota-Lolaa stepped forward, a malicious glint in his eye. He flexed his arms and cracked his knuckles. “Allow me to teach this whelp a lesson!”

Popo scoffed. “I will not kill her,” he assured the Bulguu ominously. The monster swallowed, eyes wide in fear. Popo turned to Goota-Lolaa but stopped on catching sight of Abdi, as well as Aisha standing near the pen. “No,” he mused, eyeing Abdi predatorily. “I do not think I will use _you_ for this, Goota-Lolaa. Instead… Cadaabta Ey!” Popo called, his eyes taking on a malicious glint. “I have need of you: now, transform.”

Abdi stood rooted in the spot, staring at Popo and trying to keep the fear from showing in his eyes. Behind Popo the Bulguu wrung his hands together, driving his talons into his skin, drawing blood. Aisha had a look of terror in her eyes. However, Abdi couldn’t look at anyone other than Popo. On seeing Abdi’s hesitation, Popo jerked his head at Aisha. Goota-Lolaa seized her by the forearm, leaving marks on her skin. She cried out in pain but the cry died into a whimper as Goota-Lolaa squeezed tighter.

Popo beckoned Abdi closer, stared at him through narrowed eyes. “Perhaps I haven’t made myself clear enough, boy,” he told him, voice barely audible. “Or perhaps you need a reminder. After all, _you_ gave me cause to doubt your loyalty last night, also. And your sister was just found in a forbidden area. Maybe my… _wife_ will no longer please me; I’m sure Goota-Lolaa is occasionally lonely, don’t you think?” Abdi swallowed. “You see, child, however bad you fear it is now, it can only become worse if you disobey me. Now… transform. Or I will allow Goota-Lolaa to discipline this creature, before he moves on to your sister, and finally to you.”

Abdi closed his eyes and sighed in resignation. “Growll,” he whispered, “Unleash the hounds.” He didn’t need to open his eyes to know it had worked. A red light flashed across his eyelids.

“Good,” Popo said, the slightest hint of eagerness in his voice. “Now… whip it.”

Cadaabta Ey’s eyes shot open in shock to find Popo staring into the pen at Hoda, who had curled up on herself and was eyeing him carefully. Cadaabta Ey looked around at the others. Aisha’s eyes pleaded with him not to obey, not to hurt her new friend. Behind her, Goota-Lolaa stared back at Cadaabta Ey through narrowed eyelids, his lip curling as he squeezed Aisha’s arm. Hoda glared up at them with unveiled anger. Beyond Popo stood the Bulguu, whose mouth hung open in a look of horror and dread. Cadaabta Ey found the whip on his belt and drew it, but closed his eyes, feeling the weight of it in his hand.

So many possibilities were opened to him. He could do as he was told, or he could resist and accept whatever fate would come his way. Perhaps he could follow the old woman’s example and defy Popo. But if he did that, what would happen to Aisha? Could he act quickly enough to rescue her from Popo’s retaliation? Would he even save Hoda in the long run? And what would happen to the Bulguu and his… _daughter_? Certainly Popo wouldn’t just allow his betrayal without consequence.

No, the most likely outcome was the same one the woman had received last night: a pointless death.

Cadaabta Ey climbed over the fence and stood next to Hoda. Raising his whip, he brought it down in a crack across the creature’s scaly back. Hoda cried out in pain. Aisha flinched. Cadaabta Ey steeled himself to not react. The whip cracked again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cadaabta Ey – “Hell Dog” (Somali)


	6. Chapter 6

The next morning Mohamed was the first one to arrive in the meeting room which also served at the temple’s dining hall. One of the Initiates – Shadya that morning – had already set out food, and Mohamed loaded a plate for himself before pouring a cup of coffee and taking his place at the head of the long table. Mnemmi sat down in front of him and bit into her own breakfast of polenta. Mohamed stared down at the lahoh. Growing up, his mother had almost always made this for breakfast; on a special occasion, sometimes she would make it sweet and pair it with a fruit paste. Perhaps the only blessing to come out of yesterday was that his mother had escaped from Popo’s men. Unfortunately, that didn’t help the rest of the village. He didn’t look up when footsteps entered the room.

“What’s the plan for today?” Chloe sat down next to him, a mug of coffee in her hands. She set her own plate of lahoh on the table and doused it with honey before cutting off a couple pieces, one of which she set on the floor for Bee-atrice. “Are we going to go and kick their asses before lunch?”

Mohamed frowned. “For as much as I would like to just run down there and kick their asses for what they’ve done, we can’t make any mistakes with this. Before we do any ‘ass-kicking,’ we first need _information_ ,” he told her. “So many battles have been lost through lack of vital intelligence.”

“If you wanted _intelligence_ , you should have asked for Pegasus, not King Monkey!” Chloe laughed.

He nodded in concession. “All the same,” Mohamed continued, “I am going to check out the village and see what we can learn to plan our next move.”

Chloe shrugged. “This is your show, so it’s your call,” she agreed. “But I’m coming with you.”

Mohamed raised an eyebrow dubiously. “And why on earth should I bring you with me?”

“How am I supposed to help you if I’m sitting on the sidelines?” she asked. “Maybe I’ll see something you miss.”

“That is highly unlikely,” he argued. “This is my home village. I know the people, and I know the area.”

“All the more reason you need a fresh set of eyes,” Chloe pointed out calmly, arching an eyebrow as she sipped her coffee.

“She makes a good point,” Mnemmi observed, sucking up the last bits of polenta in her bowl with her trunk and squirting it into her mouth. “A new perspective would not be amiss. With how close you are to this, you might not be able to think straight.” She phased through the table, and Bee-atrice yipped in excitement.

Mohamed furrowed his brows in thought. Every instinct told him that he needed to handle this situation himself – these were _his_ family and friends who were in danger, after all! But at the same time, _because_ his family and friends were in danger, he couldn’t afford to make mistakes and allow those he loved to suffer – not any more than they already had. “Very well.” He nodded reluctantly. “But you realize how badly you will stick out in Yoonis, correct?” Chloe gave him a look. “You will have to wear a disguise.”

After finishing his breakfast, Mohamed returned to the sleeping hall, leaving Chloe to talk to Mnemmi while he searched for clothing that would suit. Fifteen minutes later he returned to find Chloe waiting in the entryway, tapping her foot impatiently. Mnemmi hovered near the floor, using her trunk to launch a small rubber ball down the hall for Bee-atrice to chase. “I hope that these will fit you,” Mohamed told Chloe, dropping the handful of clothes into her arms. “These were Dania’s, and she was a little shorter than you.”

Chloe stared at the long, dark red garment in her hands, a confused expression on her face. “What is this, and do you really expect me to wear it?”

“That is a jilbāb, it will cover almost your entire body, and yes you _are_ going to wear it if you plan to accompany me into the village this morning.” Mohamed took the garment and helped Chloe situate it over herself before handing her the niqāb. She took out her ponytail holder and frowned before covering up her face. “You had better keep your hands under there while we’re out,” he warned her. “It would not do for the militants to find out there are outsiders in the village – and especially a European woman. That would mean a fight we’re not prepared for, and if we lost, they would probably kill _me_ , and then _eventually_ kill you. Once you wished they had killed you sooner.”

“ _Ridicule_ ,” muttered Chloe. She reached down to pet Bee-atrice before turning to Mnemmi. “Can you bring her back to my room?”

The Kwami nodded. “That will not be a problem,” she assured her, and she flew off down the hallway, waving the ball in the air on the end of her trunk, with the puppy chasing after her. “I’ll meet you outside.”

Satisfied, Mohamed led the way out of the temple and down the narrow path behind and alongside the waterfall. Mnemmi phased out of the sheer rock face before they had reached the base of the mountain and slipped into a fold of Mohamed’s cloak. Traveling without miraculous-enhanced speed to avoid attracting unwanted attention, it took them the better part of an hour to reach the spot just outside the village where Mohamed and Nawal had set up their ambush the day before, from which they could hope to enter the village undetected. The trail appeared to be deserted in both directions, and the two heroes cautiously walked out of the forest toward the village. Not a person was to be seen in the fields. Not a sound was to be heard. As they stole past the outermost huts into Yoonis, the streets were almost empty.

“Is it usually this quiet?” Chloe whispered, her voice carrying in the morning silence.

Mohamed shook his head. “Usually the farmers are out before the sun; this time of the year they should be bringing in the harvest. Over there the sheep should be grazing.” He frowned. “Normally people would be in the market by now, children playing in the streets.”

Continuing down the street past the huts of people he knew, Mohamed noticed doors opening and faces peering out at him. His uncle stared at him, eyes narrowed in judgment. Next door lived Mohamed’s closest friend growing up; he didn’t even open the door. Some of these people knew who Mohamed was – did they blame him for the militants’ attack? Mohamed couldn’t blame them; _he_ blamed _himself_ for what had happened. He had come to protect them the day before, and he had been outmaneuvered by the simple expediency of an unknown miraculous. He had failed.

Turning down the other street, they walked through the village center, a wide open space lined on all sides with simple tarp stalls. Here there were people. A handful of villagers huddled beside stalls on one side of the space, trying to melt into their crates of produce. But on the other side of the square were a half-dozen men in dark camouflage with rifles strapped to their backs. The one who appeared to be in charge had a silvery pistol in a makeshift holster on his thigh. Mohamed averted his eyes and led Chloe slowly across the open space, hoping not to be accosted.

“ _Haye_!” [“Hey!”]

No such luck. Mohamed stopped and inclined his head forward as the militant leader approached. Beside him, Chloe dipped her head to stare at the ground, hiding her sliver of exposed pale skin. “Yes, sir?” he responded in Somali.

“What are you doing out?” the militant demanded. He tilted his head and narrowed his eyes suspiciously. “I don’t recognize you.”

Mohamed shrugged. “I do live here. I was on a trip for business the past week and have only just returned home with my wife.”

“Hmph.” The militant studied them carefully. “This village is under Lord Popo’s protection now. See that you do not cause trouble.” He waved a hand dismissively, and Mohamed and Chloe started walking, until the militant stopped them again with a word. “One last thing… Lord Popo’s representative will come this afternoon to give further instructions. Do not miss the assembly. There will be… consequences for any who do.” His eye strayed to Chloe.

Mohamed nodded in acknowledgement, grabbed the edge of Chloe’s jilbāb, and half-dragged her down the next street, away from the village center. Once they were out of sight of the soldiers, he breathed a sigh of relief and slowed down to catch his breath.

“What was that all about?” demanded Chloe in English.

Mohamed pulled his cloak out and looked down to find Mnemmi staring back at him. “Do a quick sweep of the village,” he told the Kwami quietly. “Don’t be seen, and be careful!” Mnemmi gave his side a quick hug and phased out of his cloak, disappearing into the shadows. Satisfied, he turned to Chloe and explained, also in English, “I had to talk our way out of a tricky situation. Nothing to worry about.” Through the tiny slit of the niqāb he could see her eyes narrowed at him suspiciously. “They did say Popo will have an announcement this afternoon. That may be our window of opportunity.”

The street they found themselves on was not the main one, but it was all too familiar to Mohamed. He knew everyone who had lived on this street 15 years ago. Most of them still lived there. Or their children lived there in the same house. Without hesitating he brought Chloe to the fourth hut down and pounded sharply on the door.

“I really hope you know what you’re doing,” Chloe muttered under her breath, her head twisting in all directions.

“Who is there?” a voice demanded on the other side of the door.

“A friend,” responded Mohamed.

“I’ve heard that before.” The door opened a crack. There was a gasp. “Mo?”

“Hi, Iza,” he replied, mustering a small smile.

The door flew open, and Aziza dragged Mohamed and Chloe inside. “What on earth are you doing here!?!” she demanded urgently. Looking around the room, Mohamed saw the two youngest children huddled in the far corner behind one of the two chairs.

“I had to come,” he told her, giving her a quick hug. She grabbed onto him and held tightly, sobbing silently into his shoulder. “Nawal said you were safe, but I had to know for certain.”

“We are.” Aziza frowned. “Or at least the children and I are okay. Ali was caught up in the attack yesterday. One of the soldiers whipped him! We got ointment for his back; Hala is with him in the other room. I haven’t seen mother since yesterday’s attack.”

“She is safe,” Mohamed assured her. “One of my people set up a camp for those who escaped. They will be safe for now.” He paused. “You said that Ali was whipped?”

Aziza nodded, her lip trembling. “He was trying to protect Iman when one of them struck him.” She gave Mohamed a reproachful look. “I thought you said you would protect us. Why didn’t you?”

Mohamed looked away and closed his eyes. “I tried to protect you,” he answered, hating the tremor in his voice. “But I couldn’t. They have one on their side using a miraculous; from what you said, I think he was the one who hurt Ali. We were unprepared for him. I’m sorry.”

Aziza stepped back and folded her arms, glaring at him furiously. “I’m sure _you_ are sorry. But what about Iman? What about Leila? Those monsters _took_ them, and I _know_ you know what that means!”

Mohamed nodded. “I know. But I swear to you, we _will_ stop them. We _will_ bring their prisoners home.”

Aziza finally turned to look at Chloe, a confused expression on her face. “And who is this?”

Mohamed gave Chloe a nod and switched to English. “This is Chloe, a friend from France. She is here with another of the Heroes of Paris to help us stop this Popo.” He turned to Chloe and added, “This is my sister, Aziza.”

Chloe pulled off her niqāb and ran her fingers through her hair before claiming one of the two chairs. “We’re here to help,” she told Aziza, a determined look in her eyes. “We won’t let these monsters hurt your village anymore.”

Aziza pulled her lips into a tight line as she stared at Chloe. “You had better,” she replied, “because I do not know how much more we can take. At first it was just two militants who appeared demanding information – information about you,” she added pointedly, turning to Mohamed. “But it just keeps getting worse. After yesterday–And now they are taking hostages!”

“We won’t let that happen,” Chloe assured her. “We will stop him. And even if the worst should happen, my people can evacuate your village in an instant and bring you to a new location where Popo can never hurt you again.”

Aziza scoffed. “You will not convince many to accept that fate,” she observed. “This is our home, and not many will willingly abandon it.”

“We will fight for you to keep it, even against whatever Popo sends,” Mohamed promised, squeezing her shoulder comfortingly.

“You had better.”


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The ideas for the Ant Miraculous weapon and the Wildebeest Miraculous ability came from bryguy2324 on FF.net.

King Monkey lay prone on the low roof of one of the buildings surrounding the village’s marketplace, Sent-Bee next to him, both of them hiding under a blanket. While Chloe and Mohamed had been away that morning, he and Maaza had sparred for a couple hours, until she grudgingly admitted that maybe he wasn’t a liability. And almost as soon as the others had returned, they had all moved out, entering the village in disguise and transforming out of sight before setting up around the square. Now the hot tropical sun had been beating down on them for hours, until King Monkey thought his brain was being baked. King Monkey wiped the perspiration from his forehead with the back of his hand, careful not to disturb the blanket and draw attention from the people below. Villagers milled around the marketplace aimlessly. A few stopped at the stalls, but without purchasing anything. Men carrying rifles ringed the square, penning the villagers in.

It looked for all the world like a village under siege, no different than any of the times Darkblade or Malediktator had attempted to take over Paris.

“… fifteen, sixteen…” Sent-Bee counted quietly. “I see at least seventeen of them in the square,” she whispered.

“There are another couple down this street,” reported Roqonsa Saada, who had taken a position behind a stall of textiles on the far end of the marketplace near the village entrance. “They appear to be watching for someone from the direction of their camp.”

“Aren’t you glad you left the little one back at the temple?” King Monkey muttered quietly.

“Only partially,” conceded Sent-Bee. “But she would be better company!”

Maroodiga Cawlan and Ngarayap lay on the roof of the building opposite King Monkey and Sent-Bee. “It appears that the entire village is here,” he told them. “But there are less people than I had expected.” He sighed heavily. “Hostages.”

“We’ll rescue them,” Sent-Bee promised.

King Monkey turned away from the market scene below them and flicked his staff to open the screen built into the end, scrolling through his pictures. Ondine’s Instagram showed her walking around the Trocadéro with Aurore and Nadine. The three of them were bundled up in sweaters – Ondine had a hint of red in her cheeks. And meanwhile he was in Somalia, baking in the sun. If he weren’t here right now, he would be there with her. He thumbed the control on his staff to mute the communicator. “I get it’s a little late for second thoughts, but…”

“… you’re going to go and have some anyways?” Sent-Bee finished sardonically, arching an eyebrow at him in amusement. “Let me guess, you still want to know why you’re here in a Podunk little village in Somalia?”

“I mean… yeah,” King Monkey confirmed, nodding in embarrassment. “If I wasn’t here, I’d probably be at the park with Ondine, having ice cream. Or maybe playing basketball with a few of the guys. I’d be going on the _date_ we’d been planning tonight, not getting ready to beat up on a bunch of dirt-bag thugs. I get that they’re in trouble and we can help – and I don’t like the idea of this warlord guy having his hostages – but we’re the Heroes of _Paris_.”

Sent-Bee rolled her eyes. “Utterly ridiculous,” she muttered. “You’re a hero, right?”

“Yeah…”

“That means you help people, right?”

“ _Yeah_ …” King Monkey gave her an annoyed look. “Where are you going with this?”

“Well, the people we help aren’t just in Paris anymore, Monkey Boy,” she explained brusquely. “I spent half the summer running all over the world to coordinate with the other miraculous teams, and the one thing I learned is that there are people in need everywhere. And we can help them – maybe not all the time, but when we can. When the local heroes need our help.”

“And I get all of that,” King Monkey agreed. “Just… it’s a whole lot easier to do the hero thing when we’re in Paris than when we’re not.”

Sent-Bee shrugged. “We go where the job takes us.”

He let out a breath. “And what about the people we leave behind?”

Sent-Bee eyed him curiously. “You really like this girl, don’t you?”

“Well… I mean… yeah,” he replied lamely. He felt heat rising in his cheeks, independent of the scorching sun.

She hummed quietly, tapping her chin. Finally she let out a sigh. “If you’re going to whine about it for the rest of the trip, why don’t we just swap patrol nights?”

“You’d do that?” King Monkey stared at her in shock. “I mean – _yes_ –but still–”

“If the options are either swap patrol nights so you can go on your stupid date or listening to you complain about it for the rest of the weekend, I’ll pick this,” she informed him curtly, arching an eyebrow.

King Monkey threw an arm around her in an awkward half-hug. “Thanks!”

“Get off of me, you damn, dirty ape!” Sent-Bee grumbled, pushing him away. “If this is what you’re like… you’re utterly ridiculous,” she muttered.

King Monkey sheepishly released her in relief. Looking back down at the screen on his staff, another picture was up, of Ondine sniffing one of the few flowers still in bloom this late in the season. She didn’t have a care in the world. Two years ago, when the Pied Pipette – a swimmer’s mother who was upset with the referees at one of their tournaments – attempted to take over the complex with her army of blind mice, he had seen the fear in Ondine’s eyes while they were being herded against the wall. That had been before he received his miraculous, and he had been helpless to do anything. And these people here were just as helpless. But he could help them. He looked one last time at Ondine’s picture before he shut the screen and let out a quiet breath. _I can do this thing. And then I will go back home to you._ “Thanks, Chlo,” he told Sent-Bee quietly.

She nodded, a small smile turning up one side of her mouth, but froze, her eyes scanning the sudden movement below them. King Monkey leaned forward slightly as the militants standing around the marketplace started running around in agitation. Two took a position under their roof. Another couple began directing the villagers into the center of the square.

“Someone is coming,” reported Roqonsa Saada. “It’s… actually three people. The big guy in the middle seems to be the boss, but he’s got a couple others behind him. One of them – I’m not entirely sure what it is, but it’s not human. They’re just entering the village now.”

King Monkey tensed as the strange group appeared from the far side of the square, strode straight to the center, and stopped. The man in the center was taller and heavier than King Monkey and looked to be carrying an alien energy weapon strapped to his back. Directly behind him was an older man with rheumy eyes who carried a crooked stick. But the strangest one was the third, a tall reptilian that King Monkey had only seen in pictures captured from Turing’s security footage; he’d never imagined that he would meet one for real – especially not in Africa. “Is that–?”

“Yes.” Sent-Bee nodded, her eyes narrowing to thin slits. “But is this Shunjar going to be anything like the other one?”

The big man clapped his hands above his head, and the villagers quieted instantly. King Monkey could see the terror in their faces as they stared at the man who represented their oppressor, who had taken their sisters and daughters the day before. The man started shouting in Somali, fire in his eyes. A villager in the front row flinched, and the militant punched him in the gut, sending him stumbling to the ground, clutching his stomach.

“Um… what’s going on?” King Monkey wondered.

“The man calls himself ‘Goota-Lolaa’ – ‘Warrior’,” Maroodiga Cawlan explained hurriedly. “He just informed them that the hostages he took yesterday are still alive, but that uncooperativeness on the part of the villagers would be… ‘bad for their health’ is the phrase he used. That was when the man flinched – I recognize him; I think he has a daughter who is missing.” He was quiet for a moment. Goota-Lolaa railed at the villagers. “Now he is asking about the tales of ‘wizards’ in the mountains – that’s one of the legends about us in the region,” he added. “They think the miraculous temple is full of wizards. He said – he said one of those he took hostage yesterday _was_ a wizard and–” A collective gasp rose from the crowd. Roqonsa Saada muttered a curse that King Monkey didn’t understand. Maroodiga Cawlan fell silent.

“Well?” demanded King Monkey.

When someone finally spoke, it was Ngarayap. “They want to know who else knew the witch,” she translated. “They have questions that need answers.”

“Well damn,” observed King Monkey conversationally.

Sent-Bee elbowed him in the ribs and jerked her head in the direction of three militants near the edge of the crowd. The militants had surrounded a woman and separated her from the crowd, herding her forward until she stood in front of Goota-Lolaa. “That’s Mohamed’s sister,” she muttered darkly. Goota-Lolaa asked the woman a question, and she shook her head firmly. He asked another question, and she shook her head again. Finally he nodded to one of the militants, who smacked her in the back with the butt of his rifle. She pitched forward and landed on her knees.

“Ha!” shouted Maroodiga Cawlan, leaping to his feet across the market square from them. He spun his hose in a tight circle and threw it to loop around his sister’s waist, pulling her off the ground and into the air. Catching her with one arm, he placed her on the roof behind him, raising his hose and spinning it as a shield.

“So much for the plan,” muttered Sent-Bee, snapping her helmet’s shield down to cover her face.

Goota-Lolaa turned in surprise, pointing at Maroodiga Cawlan. “Weeraraan!” he bellowed. As one, the militants around the market raised their rifles.

“Iron Forge!” shouted Roqonsa Saada, surging to her feet behind her market stall, her royal blue suit taking on a metallic steel sheen in the sunlight. She vaulted over the stall and landed in a dead sprint, charging the nearest group of militants. Half a dozen spun to face her, brought their barrels down, and opened fire. Her eyes narrowed, and bullets dinged off of her and ricocheted into the ground. The fly whisk in her hand flashed. Roqonsa Saada swatted away the closest gun barrel, sweeping it up to fire into the side of a building, spinning around with the same motion to sweep the militant’s legs out from under him. He tumbled, and she kicked him in the chest, launching him across the street and through the side of a hut. Even before he had landed, she threw herself into a nearby cluster of three militants, all of whom turned to retreat from her furious onslaught.

Maroodiga Cawlan leapt from his roof, hose spinning in front of him, over the heads of two militants, and landed between them and the villagers. He swung his hose around, caught the two militants by the legs, and threw them into the air. With their attention diverted between two threats, the militants hesitated. Maroodiga Cawlan’s hose darted out at Goota-Lolaa’s neck, and the large man ducked. “Get the civilians out of here!” Maroodiga Cawlan ordered, sparing a glance for Ngarayap. The wizened old man behind Goota-Lolaa lifted his staff, pointed it at Maroodiga Cawlan, and started chanting. Maroodiga Cawlan froze in place, quivering. King Monkey could see his pupils constricted to tiny pinpricks.

“Well, shit,” grumbled Sent-Bee. King Monkey tensed, and she grabbed his shoulder. “Does that _look_ like a miraculous to you?” she demanded, glaring at him. She pushed the blanket back and rose to a crouch. “ _I_ ’ll take care of this guy; _you_ keep your eyes out for the Dhole Miraculous user!” With that she planted her hand on the roof, swung herself over the edge, and dropped to the ground, shooting the two militants below them with synth-Venom while she was still in midair. Sent-Bee landed in a crouch and let out a shout, aiming another shot of synth-Venom across the square at the old man. He dove to one side – more agilely than King Monkey expected for one so old – and aimed his staff at Sent-Bee, his eyes rolling back into his skull. She palmed one of her yo-yos and threw it at his legs, and he jumped back to avoid it. Maroodiga Cawlan sucked in a shaky breath and refocused on Goota-Lolaa and the alien behind him.

Ngarayap had by this time latched her grappling hook on the edge of the roof and lowered Maroodiga Cawlan’s sister to the ground. “Halkaas tag!” she shouted, drawing the villagers’ attention and pointing toward the tree line on the far side of the village, away from the direction from which the militants had come.

A flash of red light near the far side of the market drew King Monkey’s attention. One of the militants had transformed, his black suit highlighted with crimson. “Speak of the devil,” he grumbled.

“Fear–” the Dhole user began.

King Monkey hefted his staff and hurled it with all his might.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There are a bunch of Somali words and phrases sprinkled in (from Google Translate). I don’t provide a translation in the text because Kim doesn’t understand it. I hope it makes sense from context, however.
> 
> Ha – “no”  
> Weeraraan – “attack”  
> Halkaas tag – “go there”


	8. Chapter 8

Maroodiga Cawlan stared down the two enemies facing him. The man who had called himself Goota-Lolaa leered at him, a manic glint in his eye, and drew the machete from its sheath on his leg. His companion stood a little behind him, an unreadable expression on his reptilian face. Maroodiga Cawlan narrowed his eyes and caught the end of his hose with his other hand. He swung it over his head, pulled it tight, and flexed his shoulders on either side, sizing the two enemies up. On the far side of the market square, Ngarayap was directing the villagers toward the forest. Three men standing alongside a vegetable stall raised their rifles, aiming for the fleeing civilians. Ngarayap extended her grappling line and placed herself between the civilians and the gunmen. Roqonsa Saada picked up one of the militants and threw him into the other two. The three men tumbled over the stall, bringing the tarp crashing down on top of them. King Monkey and the Dhole Miraculous user were nowhere to be seen. Maroodiga Cawlan let out a breath: his friends and family were safe. For now, at least. His eyes narrowed into slits as he examined the monster of a man in front of him.

“Finally we meet!” Goota-Lolaa crowed, letting out a bark of laughter. “And you brought friends with you! My master will be pleased when I present your bodies to him so he can claim your miraculous for himself – yes, my master knows about your toys.”

Maroodiga Cawlan scoffed and released one side of the hose, smacking it against the ground between them. “Knowledge of the thing isn’t possession of the thing,” he answered. “Your master may have found one miraculous, but he will never touch another one.”

Goota-Lolaa tested the blade of his machete against the pad of his thumb, drawing a thin line of blood. “We shall see, once I have broken you and flayed you like the insignificant _twig_ that you are!”

“You are nothing but the weak-willed pawn of a man too arrogant to lift a finger for himself!” Maroodiga Cawlan retorted. “You prey on those weaker than yourself and torture those better and purer than you for your own sick amusement.” He stalked forward, placing himself face-to-chest with the larger man, and glared up into his face. “I’m sure you are big and strong when you are victimizing a helpless young girl fighting for her chastity or an old woman with arthritis.” His voice dropped lower. “But you will find that _I_ am not such easy prey. Elephants do not cow easily, and they do not forget offenses. I _will_ avenge your misdeeds here, and then I will show you _exactly_ the kind of mercy you have shown to your victims.”

Goota-Lolaa laughed dismissively. “I am not afraid of your power!” he sneered. “I have fought larger and more monstrous creatures than the likes of _you_!” He jerked his head at his companion to emphasize the point.

“The one who wins the battle with his words is not as powerful as the one who walks away in the end.” Maroodiga Cawlan lashed out with a punch to Goota-Lolaa’s chest, and the large man sidestepped to avoid it before bringing his elbow down on Maroodiga Cawlan’s arm. Maroodiga Cawlan grabbed Goota-Lolaa by the arm and tried to lift him off the ground. Goota-Lolaa, however, was too big for him to gain leverage, and he drove his forehead into Maroodiga Cawlan’s head. Both men fell back a pace, stunned from the impact.

Goota-Lolaa recovered first and turned to his companion. “Attack him, Bulguu!”

The Bulguu’s eyes narrowed into slits and he charged with a guttural bellow. Maroodiga Cawlan shook his head once. He had a momentary glimpse of Sent-Bee fighting the old man with the staff, the two of them dancing around each other as she attempted to wrap her yo-yo string around his staff, before the Bulguu was on top of him. Maroodiga Cawlan ducked low and turned his shoulder into the Bulguu’s charge, catching him in the waist and lifting him from the ground. The Bulguu fell over him, tumbled twice, and pushed himself to his feet. Maroodiga Cawlan turned to face him, but strong arms wrapped around him from behind, pinning his arms to his sides.

“Finish him!” ordered Goota-Lolaa, grunting. The Bulguu shook his head in confusion, blinking slowly as he regained his bearings. “Or do you need another _reminder_ of why you serve us?”

Maroodiga Cawlan’s chest was being constricted; he couldn’t draw in a full breath. Even straining against him with his miraculous-enhanced strength, Goota-Lolaa’s grip would not break. He flicked his wrist, setting the end of his hose swinging slightly. The Bulguu pounded his chest, his eyes flashed with rage, and he charged, claws extended and mouth open wide. Maroodiga Cawlan’s lungs burned. He lifted his legs off the ground a couple centimeters, looped his hose around Goota-Lolaa’s legs, and pulled tight. At the same moment he arched his back and threw himself up into the air, contorting his body and wrenching himself out of Goota-Lolaa’s arms and up, over the head of the charging Bulguu. The Bulguu ran straight into Goota-Lolaa, knocking him to the ground and crashing down on top of him. Maroodiga Cawlan landed on his feet behind them, dropped one hand to the ground, sucked in a deep breath, and pulled on his hose, dragging Goota-Lolaa across the hard-packed earth. The man flailed, drew the Shunjar rifle from his back, and fired pointblank into Maroodiga Cawlan’s face. Maroodiga Cawlan released him, shifted his grip on the hose, and spun the top end as a small shield, deflecting the energy into one of the market stalls. The produce on the stall caught fire, sending a plume of thick smoke into the air. Across the market, their shapes distorted by the smoke, Roqonsa Saada fought a dwindling number of militants. Her Iron Forge had worn off; she was using her fly whisk as a shield. Bullets caromed in all directions, cutting through the thin walls of the village houses like paper. Without dropping his shield, Maroodiga Cawlan flicked the bottom end of his hose upward, striking the rifle barrel and deflecting it aside. The next energy beam melted a hole upward through the wall and roof of the small school building on one side of the market.

The only mercy in this fight was that Ngarayap had by now mostly succeeded in evacuating the villagers, leaving the heroes alone with the militants. Only a handful of civilians remained in the square, pressing toward the road leading out of the village opposite the path, in a desperate bid to escape with their neighbors into the forest where Aadan and Shadya waited to bring them to the ad hoc refugee camp. The old man and Sent-Bee danced around each other near the stragglers, Sent-Bee fighting to stay between him and the villagers. The old man swung his staff, kicking up pebbles at Sent-Bee, who held up an arm to shield herself, giving the old man an opening to raise his staff and begin chanting. And old woman screamed and fell to her hands and knees, blocking the path. Sent-Bee hurled a yo-yo at the old man, who nimbly dodged out of the way, narrowly avoiding a spray of Sent-Bee’s synth-Venom. Ngarayap picked up the old woman and put her on her back, sprinting out of the village and toward the forest.

Maroodiga Cawlan refocused on the enemies in front of him and backed away, luring Goota-Lolaa and the Bulguu down the narrow passageway between two buildings. In the confined space, too narrow for both to fit side-by-side, Goota-Lolaa took the lead, rifle in one hand and machete in the other. Seeing an opening, he lunged forward, his machete flashing in the sun, and Maroodiga Cawlan caught it in one hand, snapping the blade in half and throwing the broken half on top of the closest building. Surreptitiously he flicked his hose around a protrusion from the building’s base and pulled it taut, moments before Goota-Lolaa’s foot caught on it. Goota-Lolaa stumbled, and Maroodiga Cawlan pulled the hose straight up, pulling his legs out from under him and sending the enormous man crashing to the ground. The moment Goota-Lolaa went down, Maroodiga Cawlan lunged forward, over the monstrous man’s prone form, and caught the Bulguu in a flying tackle. The two of them tumbled over until they came to rest in the square, the Bulguu’s arms, legs, and short tail pinned by Maroodiga Cawlan.

The Bulguu flexed his arms and legs, straining to dislodge Maroodiga Cawlan. “Get off of me!”

“I know what you are, Shunjar.” Maroodiga Cawlan glared down at the alien.

The Bulguu froze, his eyes widened in surprise, and he stared back at Maroodiga Cawlan. “You… you do not think I am a ‘monster’?” he asked, mouth hanging open in wonderment.

Maroodiga Cawlan’s mouth opened and shut in confusion. “I–No…” he answered slowly. “Why would I think that? I have met aliens before.”

“They have only ever called me ‘monster’,” the Bulguu explained. He flicked his tail toward the alleyway where they could hear Goota-Lolaa picking himself up off the ground. “ _He_ only ever speaks to me as one might to a pet.”

Maroodiga Cawlan sat back, releasing the alien’s arms as he did so, and furrowed his brows. “Whatever else your kind may be,” he finally told the alien, “monsters you are not.”

“How…” the Bulguu paused. “Have you met other Shunjar?”

Maroodiga Cawlan shook his head. “I have not personally met another of your race,” he admitted, “but I do know of one.”

The alien tilted his head, eyes widening in what Maroodiga Cawlan thought was excitement. “Really? Where?”

Maroodiga Cawlan raised an eyebrow dubiously and stood up, taking a step back out of the alien’s range. His grip tightened on his hose. “Considering that that one tried to start an alien invasion…”

“Ah.” The Bulguu shrugged one shoulder. “I understand.” He pushed himself up to his feet and clenched his fists.

Maroodiga Cawlan spun his hose to one side and dropped his foot back into a fighting stance. “You don’t seem very interested in fighting, Shunjar,” he observed, watching the Bulguu closely.

The Bulguu bobbed his head from side to side. “I am _not_ a fighter.”

“Then why fight?”

He snorted. “Why does _anyone_ fight?” he asked rhetorically. “I have no other choice.”

“What if there _was_ another choice?”

The alien hesitated. “I–”

Goota-Lolaa slowly came into view, his energy rifle in hand and aimed at Maroodiga Cawlan’s chest. Maroodiga Cawlan shifted his hose-shield between himself and Goota-Lolaa. “What are you _doing_ , creature?” Goota-Lolaa demanded, glaring furiously at the Bulguu. “Do you need _another_ lesson?”

The Bulguu’s shoulders slumped the slightest fraction, but he lunged forward, claws digging into Maroodiga Cawlan’s chest. The sharp claws pressed against the miraculous suit but didn’t pierce it. Maroodiga Cawlan grabbed the alien’s wrists, shifted to one side, and pulled the alien off-balance. He spun him around, pulled him off the ground, and threw him backward at Goota-Lolaa. Goota-Lolaa sidestepped out of the way. The alien slammed into the building next to Goota-Lolaa with a pained cry and slid to the ground. Goota-Lolaa kicked him in the side, and he whimpered.

“Pathetic,” Goota-Lolaa scoffed. He finally looked around the square to see his militants’ bodies littering the ground. The old man hobbled toward Goota-Lolaa on his staff; the rest of the militants were dead or unconscious. Goota-Lolaa slammed his fist into the side of the building next to him. “Retreat,” he groaned as the Bulguu stirred and pushed himself feebly to his feet. He, the Bulguu, and the old man limped away toward the path. Maroodiga Cawlan flicked his hose out at them, but the old man slammed the base of his staff into the dirt, kicking up a cloud of dust and smoke. A gust of wind blew past Maroodiga Cawlan, dispersing the smoke, but the three figures had already crossed the fields between the village and the path into the forest.

Maroodiga Cawlan spared a glance behind him to see Roqonsa Saada holding her flywhisk up as a fan. She, Ngarayap, and Sent-Bee stood in the center of the square together, the bodies of the militants spread out around them. He gave Ngarayap a look. “The villagers?”

“All accounted for,” she reported with a curt nod. “Shadya met us at the edge of the forest. She is bringing them to Aadan at the refugee camp. But there are still–”

“–the hostages,” Maroodiga Cawlan finished briskly. “We can’t let those three get back to their camp. If they do, this Popo could kill the hostages.”

“Some of them probably _wish_ for death by now,” Roqonsa Saada muttered darkly.

“All the same, we can’t let that happen.”

His two team members nodded, and he turned toward the village entrance, dropping into a sprinter’s stance.

Sent-Bee cocked her head to one side. “Hang on… where’s King Monkey?”


	9. Chapter 9

“Unleash the hounds!”

Cadaabta Ey held his arms out to either side and flexed them with a roar as the red light of his transformation washed over him. Even though he had only ever transformed or used his power when Popo and Goota-Lolaa told him to, the power and strength that came with his transformation still brought with it a level of pure exhilaration. After watching his village ransacked, his family and friends killed, his sister dragged away as a child war bride, he had wondered if he would always be the helpless little boy who allowed those things to happen. For the first week of his captivity, he had been that helpless little boy, huddled in a tent next to Popo’s own – close enough to hear his sister’s nightly screams, which turned to whimpers each morning – with a dozen other new “recruits” and waiting for his fate to be decided. But then Popo had summoned him into his tent and shown him the ring. And with his sister’s blackened eyes on him, pleading for help, he had accepted; he couldn’t have done otherwise if he had wanted her to live.

Of course, now he wondered if Aisha wouldn’t have preferred that alternative. For that matter, almost certainly the people of this village would have preferred if he hadn’t accepted Popo’s offer. After all, now he was one of those _causing_ the horrors and pain. _He_ was the one breaking any opposition a village might throw together to oppose Goota-Lolaa’s men. Maybe he was no longer helpless, but perhaps what he had now become was something worse.

But what other option did he have?

If anyone had asked him that question two days ago, he would immediately have said there was none: Popo’s could not be opposed. Now, however, he wasn’t so sure. Looking at the woman who had stood up to Goota-Lolaa’s questioning, Abdi had been reminded of the old woman who had defied Popo. That old woman had known what would happen, and she had accepted it to deny Popo his goal. These people were not afraid of Popo’s power, and they were not afraid of death. But now, if he was going to continue to keep his sister alive, Cadaabta Ey would have to _teach_ these people fear; otherwise the thing _he_ feared would happen. And what was worse, it would not happen to _him_.

On the far side of the village market, Hassan let out a scream, firing his rifle pointblank at one of their unexpected attackers, the one in blue. The bullets, however, deflected off of her face in all directions. She grabbed Hassan’s gun, crushed the barrel with one hand, and ripped it out of his hand before backhanding him across the face with the stock. She spun around in a kick and launched him into the side of a building. The metal sheeting bent under the impact, and he slid down to the ground, slumped against the wall. A thin trail of blood ran out the corner of Hassan’s mouth.

Cadaabta Ey drew his whip and brought it up over his head. “Fear–”

Cadaabta Ey never finished the phrase as a long, slender staff struck him in the back of the head and ricocheted off. He spun around, one hand rubbing the sore spot on the back of his head, searching for the source of the attack. Someone in a bronze bodysuit with tall red hair leapt from the roof of a building across the square. The black staff deflected off a stall and back to the newcomer’s hand, and he swung around in midair, aiming his foot at Cadaabta Ey’s chest. Before he could react, Cadaabta Ey was knocked to the ground, landing flat on his back. He rolled backward to his feet, cracking his whip to one side.

“Who?” Cadaabta Ey gasped, staring at him.

“The name’s ‘King Monkey’,” the other replied cheekily, holding the staff behind his back and flexing his biceps on his free hand. “And _your_ name is ‘One Who’s Gonna Get His Ass Kicked’!”

Cadaabta Ey leapt back to avoid a kick to his abdomen, ducked under the swinging staff, and punched King Monkey in the ribs. The hero braced his abs and grunted with the impact before jerking his knee up into Cadaabta Ey’s gut. Cadaabta Ey sprang back away from him, flicking his whip at King Monkey’s face. The hero twirled his staff as a shield, blocking the repeated lashes, and dropped one foot back in a defensive stance.

Again and again Cadaabta Ey cracked his whip, searching for an opening in King Monkey’s defense, but his opponent’s shield was impenetrable. He kept up a steady stream of attacks with his whip, the air cracking all around them, holding the hero at bay without connecting once but driving him to the side of the street on the far side of the square, pressing him away from the village entrance. He backed King Monkey closer to the nearest building, just outside of the main market area, until the hero’s back was against the wall. But as he did so, Cadaabta Ey tried to regain his bearings. He had never faced another miraculous user before! For that matter, he’d never had any idea that other miraculous even existed! Popo had never mentioned the possibility, and Growll had avoided the question whenever Abdi asked him about other creatures like himself. Before now, Cadaabta Ey had only ever fought regular people – mostly poorly-armed and untrained villagers who were trying and failing to protect their homes and families. Those villagers had never stood a chance against Popo’s band of militants, even _without_ Cadaabta Ey’s Fear-y to impel them away. But this time… This time the villagers were protected by champions. Someone had come to save this village when it was in need.

So where were these champions when Abdi had been forced to watch his village burned? Where were they when he was taken and pressed into Popo’s army? Where were they when he’d been forced to stand guard outside Popo’s tent and listen to his own sister sob through the night and beg for death?

Cadaabta Ey steeled himself and glared at King Monkey. These heroes were here for _this_ village, but they hadn’t lifted a finger for _his_ village! If they had been there, perhaps his village would have survived! If they had been there, none of this would have happened. He wouldn’t be here, terrorizing _this_ village, if only someone had stood up for _his_ village. He took in his surroundings with a quick glance and struck out, not at King Monkey but at the base of the building they were standing beside. His whip cut through the thin metal, which shuddered and trembled as the wall resettled. He struck again, this time lashing the support holding up the metal awning covering the stall outside the building. With a rending screech, the awning gave way and collapsed. King Monkey looked up in surprise and dove to the side, narrowly avoiding the swinging awning. As he landed, Cadaabta Ey flicked his whip and hit the back of King Monkey’s hand. The hero hissed in pain, shaking the hand as it started to seep blood from a cut that had bitten into flesh through the miraculous glove.

“Why are you here?” Cadaabta Ey demanded, fury in his eyes, one fist trembling at his side, the other raised and holding his whip ready to strike. “Why protect _this_ village?”

“I was asking myself the same question before,” King Monkey admitted, snorting. He placed one end of his staff on the ground and pushed himself up to his feet, glaring at his injured hand in annoyance. “I mean, I’m sure the people who live here like it, but compared to my home it isn’t all that much.” He gave his staff a testing swing. “But that’s not my business. _I_ ’m here because people like _you_ don’t want to let these people live their life!”

Cadaabta Ey scoffed and charged forward. “And what did _this_ village do to earn your protection?” _Why didn’t you protect_ my _village?_ He dropped to the ground to sweep King Monkey’s leg out from under him, but the hero jumped over his leg to avoid the move and punched Cadaabta Ey in the face. Cadaabta Ey raised his arm to block it, dropping back a pace.

King Monkey shrugged. “I’ll protect this village because the people here need my protection. Because that’s what heroes do.”

“Not all the time!” Cadaabta Ey spun into a roundhouse kick. King Monkey ducked below the first kick and blocked the second. The moment he landed, Cadaabta Ey flicked his whip, cracking it centimeters from King Monkey’s face as he bobbed to the side to avoid it.

“Maybe we can’t be everywhere at once,” retorted King Monkey in annoyance. “But I’m here now, and I’m going to stop you and save these people!”

Cadaabta Ey snorted. “You won’t be able to while you’re living out your worst nightmare: Fear-y!” He cracked his whip above his head as he felt energy course through him and out into the atmosphere.

King Monkey froze in place, his eyes twitching and fists clenching and unclenching. His breathing turned shallow and finally his eyes shut tight. A collective gasp rose up from the small crowd of villagers standing around them that built in intensity until it became a scream. Cadaabta Ey stalked closer. “Uproar,” King Monkey whispered weakly. A small doll appeared in midair and dropped into King Monkey’s hand. His eyes came open, and he tossed the doll at Cadaabta Ey, who dropped back in confusion. The doll hit his leg, and Cadaabta Ey cocked his head in confusion: the Fear-y energy dissipated. He frowned. The few villagers standing near them gasped, wide-eyed, and relaxed. He looked down at his ring, which hadn’t beeped once to indicate that his timer was about to expire.

“You like that?” asked King Monkey, grinning at him in exhilaration. “One minute you’ve got all the power in the world, and then… _poof_ : it’s all gone!” He threw his head back and laughed uproariously. “Isn’t that the most hilarious thing you’ve ever heard?”

Cadaabta Ey glared at him darkly. “We will see if you are still laughing when I get through with you!” He pounced on King Monkey, arms spread wide, fingers extended. King Monkey’s eyes went wide in shock, and he raised his staff to block Cadaabta Ey’s furious attack. Cadaabta Ey clawed at his face, punched him in the gut, kicked him in the side of the knee. All of Goota-Lolaa’s combat training went out the window; all he could do was throw wild, uncoordinated strikes. King Monkey blocked each of his wild attacks, pushing him off balance, slowly pacing backward, leading Cadaabta Ey away from the city center. Cadaabta Ey punched recklessly, King Monkey sidestepped, and Cadaabta Ey’s fist drove straight through a house’s wall. He shook his fist in irritation, warping the rough corrugated metal. He had to keep fighting; if he didn’t, he knew what would happen to Aisha.

King Monkey dove forward while Cadaabta Ey’s fist was still stuck, catching him around the waist and picking him up off the ground. Cadaabta Ey pounded him in the back over and over again with his fists, but King Monkey would not release him. He slammed him hard into the ground and Cadaabta Ey gasped, all the breath knocked from his lungs. He flicked out his whip at King Monkey’s head, and it wrapped around the hero’s staff. King Monkey wrenched the whip out of his hands and sent it skittering across the street and out of reach. Cadaabta Ey tried to punch him, but King Monkey caught his fist and pinned it to the ground, placing his knee over both it and Cadaabta Ey’s chest. Cadaabta Ey’s head was pushed back by King Monkey’s staff laid across his throat.

“You’re _done_ terrorizing these people!” King Monkey declared, grabbing the clawed ring on Cadaabta Ey’s finger and prying it off.

“No!”

The ring slid off, and the red light covered Cadaabta Ey again, leaving him as just plain Abdi.

King Monkey’s jaw dropped open. “You’re just a _kid_!”

“And _you_ just murdered my sister!”


	10. Chapter 10

“I’m telling you, bro, you gotta at least _listen_ to the kid.”

Maroodiga Cawlan’s eyes narrowed suspiciously as he looked down at the young man in front of him, surrounded by the other heroes in the center of the now-deserted village. Dressed in the same mottled fatigues favored by all the militants, the boy stood with his shoulders hunched forward, a defeated and beaten down attitude evident in his features. The young man’s fists trembled where he held them in front of his chest. This was the boy who had driven him and Ngarayap to flee yesterday, who had paved the way for this militant band to abduct and murder his friends and family members. This was the boy who had whipped Ali when he tried to fight back. This boy was the reason so many people that he knew had been in danger and fearful for their lives, the reason so many of his friends’ sisters and daughters were being held as hostages. And now the boy was also the reason he and his team hadn’t already left to rescue those hostages. “And why do I need to listen to this enemy soldier when he just got done terrorizing this village?” he demanded, not taking his eyes off the militant.

“ _Because_ ,” Kim explained in annoyance, holding up a banana for Xuppu to eat, “it sounds a whole lot like there’s more to the kid’s story than we thought.”

“And meanwhile, as we wait and question prisoners, those three are returning to their master and all of his prisoners,” Maroodiga Cawlan pointed out. “What will Popo do to the girls of this village when he finds out his men failed?”

“And that’s exactly _why_ we need to hear him out.”

Sent-Bee hummed contemplatively. “Weren’t you saying this morning that we need information? That we can’t afford to go in blind if we’re going to save your friends and family?”

Maroodiga Cawlan gave Sent-Bee a dark look. “I had hoped not to reveal that connection to these enemies,” he grumbled.

The boy’s jaw dropped. “‘Your– _your_ friends and family’?” he repeated. “So then this is… And I…” He turned around slowly to take in the damage to the village. A couple of the nearby houses had collapsed when Roqonsa Saada threw militants through their walls. Several stands in the marketplace still smoked from energy blasts which had set the old wood on fire. He looked down at the ground. “I did this…” He swallowed. “What of the people? How many?”

“None today,” Nawal piped up. “There were a few cuts and bruises – a couple of energy burns. But everyone escaped into the forest, and our friends are watching them to keep them safe.”

The boy looked down. “And the man?” he mumbled. “The one I hurt yesterday?”

Maroodiga Cawlan pursed his lips. The damage was already done – he couldn’t exactly put Aziza in _more_ danger now. “You mean my sister’s husband?” he asked. The boy’s eyes shot up to meet his, surprised. “He is going to survive – no thanks to you.”

The boy nodded, swallowing hard. “I know.” He hesitated. “I’m… glad to hear that. That he will live, I mean.”

Maroodiga Cawlan sighed in frustration and clenched his fist around the clawed ring that King Monkey had handed him before dropping this prisoner’s dilemma into his lap. The claw dug into his palm. “Very well, then,” he finally agreed reluctantly. He placed his hand on the boy’s shoulder. “What is your story? Where did you get the miraculous?”

The boy looked up at Maroodiga Cawlan, fear evident in his eyes. “My name is Abdi,” he began, “and I have been serving Lord Popo for almost a year. He is the one who gave me the ring. I didn’t want to,” he insisted, his lip trembling. “I would have thrown it back in his face, but…”

“But what?” demanded Maroodiga Cawlan, eyes narrowed. “What could possibly lead you to work for this warlord?” Apart from a desire for power, why _would_ anyone work for a man like this?

Abdi’s shoulders sagged. “He took my twin sister as his wife.”

Maroodiga Cawlan stared at him dumbfounded. “You are saying you are the warlord’s brother-in-law???”

Abdi’s lips trembled. “Not by choice! He forced her!”

“All the same–”

Roqonsa Saada smacked Maroodiga Cawlan in the back of his head with her fly whisk, and he turned away from the boy to fix her with a withering glare. “Are you dense, Hogaamiye?” [“leader”] she demanded, giving him a disbelieving look and pointing at Abdi. “Do you see how old he is? Do you think his sister had a _choice_ in the matter? This Popo bastard is _raping_ her!”

Abdi flinched and fell to his knees, eyes clenched tightly shut. Nawal let out an involuntary gasp, her hand flying up to cover her mouth, staring at Abdi with wide eyes. On Nawal’s shoulder, Minii froze with a sugar cube halfway to her mouth. Sent-Bee’s face took on a blank look. Kim’s jaw set in a hard line. Maroodiga Cawlan frowned. “Then you are serving your sister’s rapist as an enforcer?”

Abdi nodded sullenly, his fists opening and closing helplessly. “I have to, if I want to keep her safe. If I _don’t_ do what he wants, he will hurt her _worse_ than he already is. And as it is she already begs for death every day.” He looked around him at the unmoving militants scattered around the village square. His eyes stopped on one, a boy no older than himself, crumpled and broken against a wall. “But after this…” He clasped his hands in the dirt. “You have to help her!” he pleaded, staring up at Maroodiga Cawlan with tears in his eyes.

Maroodiga Cawlan furrowed his brows. He had to admit, the boy’s story had a ring of truth to it; he had been confronting warlords and their bands all up and down the Horn of Africa for long enough to acknowledge that they often resorted to such tactics. At the same time, the boy could also be a plant, coached to lead him and his team into a trap if he were ever captured. And if that were the case, listening to him was as likely to end in disaster. What could he do? Finally he sighed, fingering the miraculous in his hands. “We need another witness.” The miraculous activated, and a small black dog Kwami with long ears outlined in red appeared in a flash of red light.

The Kwami blinked and twisted around in midair out of confusion before catching sight of Abdi and flying over to him. The boy cupped his hand around the Kwami, whose tail wagged, and hugged the Kwami to his chest. “What–what’s going on?” the Kwami asked.

Abdi opened his mouth to answer, but Maroodiga Cawlan cut him off. “What is your name, Kwami?”

“I am Growll, the Dhole Kwami,” he squeaked automatically, before turning around. He stared at Maroodiga Cawlan in surprise, his jaw dropping open, eyes wide. “I–I don’t believe it! An Elephant! I haven’t seen another miraculous or Kwami in so long!” His eyes drifted around the rest of the circle in shock before landing on Kim. “And Xuppu! You’re here, too! When was the last time… But where is Barkk? How is she?”

Xuppu nodded in greeting. “Barkk is fine, dude. She’s… that way,” he replied, gesturing vaguely toward the north with his banana. “She’ll be relieved I found you.”

“ _You_?” Kim asked Xuppu in disbelief, raising an eyebrow. “ _I_ did all the hard work!”

“Are you telling me you could have taken out Dholey here _without_ me?” Xuppu scoffed. “Because I would _love_ to see you try!”

“Maybe next time I will!”

“Girls, girls, you’re both pretty,” Sent-Bee retorted, rolling her eyes. Kim flexed his arm and kissed his bicep.

Maroodiga Cawlan rubbed his forehead in annoyance and cleared his throat, drawing Growll’s attention back to him. “What can you tell me of yourself and your history, Growll?” he asked.

“Very little, Holder,” Growll answered, hanging his head. “My last Atlantean holder was on a mission in Kalahari when we received word of Atlantis’ destruction. On hearing the news, our host poisoned my holder and claimed me for himself. Since then, my miraculous has been passed all around the continent, always in the hands of increasingly worse people. Last year Popo gave my ring to Abdi because he couldn’t use it himself and he thought Abdi would be easy to control.” Abdi’s breathing hitched, and Growll nuzzled up against his chest. “I didn’t know where the other miraculous could be, or if there were even any Guardians still in existence until yesterday.”

Maroodiga Cawlan nodded pensively. “And your previous holder – he said his sister is in danger?”

“I don’t know about _previous_ ,” Growll argued, frowning. A low growl emanated from his throat. “But yes, Cadaabta Ey’s sister is being held as a hostage to guarantee his cooperation. That is the only reason he has ever used my miraculous to harm innocent people.”

Maroodiga Cawlan frowned and turned back to examine Abdi. “Very well,” he finally decided. “I believe you. We will rescue your sister from this Popo. But by now your _former_ companions have a significant lead. So in exchange, you must show us how to get into your camp without being seen. And where the prisoners are.”

Abdi nodded curtly. “I will.”


	11. Chapter 11

Standing at the front of the group and picking his way along the narrow trail – not much more than a strip of bare dirt between the trees, only wide enough for two people to walk abreast – King Monkey was keenly aware of just how far he had come outside his comfort zone. When he was just here to use Uproar to stop someone from misusing a miraculous and hurting innocent people, things had seemed so much simpler. The guy with the miraculous was bad; they were good.

So of course things couldn’t actually be that simple.

King Monkey looked sideways at Abdi in the late afternoon light, the boy who’d been their enemy less than twenty minutes earlier. Now they were following him through the forest toward his (former) warlord’s stockade, where they would have to fight his (former) comrades to rescue the hostages, one of which was Abdi’s sister. The (ex-)militant held his head up, a firm set to his jaw, staring straight ahead without speaking. He couldn’t be much older than 13 – not much more than a kid, younger than Kim had been the first time he received the Monkey Miraculous. And yet it was clear that his year with Popo had aged him.

But for all of that, at the end of the day Abdi was still just a kid trying to keep his sister safe ( _safe-ish,_ he reminded himself). King Monkey didn’t have any siblings, but could he honestly say he wouldn’t do the same to protect his mother? Or Max or Alix or any of his friends? He opened the screen on his staff and found a picture of Ondine. She was safe in Paris, but Abdi’s sister wasn’t safe. So he would help this kid to rescue his sister, and then he would return home to see his girl.

The trees had only just begun to thin when Abdi turned sharply to the right and stepped off the trail into the underbrush. King Monkey stopped and looked at him suspiciously. Abdi glanced back and explained, “The sentries will see us if we follow the path much further. But there is a break in the fence on this side of the camp where the stockade meets the forest.”

King Monkey checked the rest of the group to find Maroodiga Cawlan staring at him. He shrugged and followed Abdi off the trail, stepping carefully to avoid crunching any fallen branches under his feet. Behind them the sun was beginning to set, casting long shadows through the trees. “Are we going to be silhouetted?” King Monkey wondered as he began to catch glimpses of the makeshift wooden stockade in the distance beyond the forest.

Behind him, Maroodiga Cawlan chuckled. “This might actually be our best-case scenario,” he answered. “This will place the sun in the eyes of anyone looking this direction. And if they have a glass – a scope or binoculars – the sun will reflect off it for us to see.”

They had walked a couple kilometers south when Abdi turned again and led them just inside the tree line, only a few meters from the camp stockade. He stopped a little way down, looked in either direction, and dropped to his hands and knees to crawl under the fence between two slats. King Monkey quickly followed him through, looking in both directions as he emerged within the militants’ camp in a narrow lane between the fence and the outermost row of tents. He couldn’t see anyone, and apart from the sound of his companions, his miraculous-enhanced hearing didn’t pick up any noise nearby. Abdi crouched by the corner of the closest tent, his head poking between the tents on lookout. King Monkey hunched over and raced to join him. They were quickly joined by Maroodiga Cawlan, Ngarayap, Sent-Bee, and Roqonsa Saada bringing up the rear.

“Popo’s tent is at the very center of the camp,” Abdi whispered hurriedly. “If the tents are all empty, that means he probably called an assembly.”

Maroodiga Cawlan nodded briskly. “We stick together for now, split when we get closer.” He gave Abdi an expectant look.

Abdi swallowed hard but plunged into the space between the tents, jogging hunched over to keep his head below the level of the tents. King Monkey stuck as close to him as he could without stepping on his heels, all his senses focused on his surroundings. However, beyond the all-pervasive stench of sulfur he had first picked up when they entered the camp and seemed to grow with every step, he noticed nothing out of the ordinary. Each line of tents they ran past was as deserted as the last. By now the sun had dipped close to the horizon; it would be dark in less than an hour. Finally, when they were almost to the center of the camp, King Monkey heard the slight rustling of clothing from beyond the next row of tents.

Maroodiga Cawlan tapped on King Monkey’s shoulder and pointed ahead before patting his own chest and pointing to the left. He indicated Roqonsa Saada with his thumb and gestured to the right. King Monkey nodded and chased after Abdi, listening as the others’ footsteps diverged behind them. Abdi stopped at the corner of a tent, and King Monkey caught a glimpse past him of rows of men in dark clothing standing in lines facing away from them, the assembly area only lit by a single lantern.

“Is it always so dark in your camp?” King Monkey whispered, ducking behind the tent before any of the militants could turn and see him.

Abdi nodded. “Popo doesn’t like lanterns or flashlights – he thinks they will ruin our night vision,” he explained. “And he forbids fires apart from cooking because he doesn’t want to risk the tents catching fire.” He pulled the tent flap back fractionally before beckoning King Monkey inside. King Monkey frowned suspiciously but followed.

The tent had four rough cots and two small chests but was otherwise unfurnished. Abdi crossed the tent to the opposite flap without hesitation and peeked out through it. King Monkey joined him and found a small space between two militants through which to watch the events in the center of the camp. A man with midnight-black skin sat in a high-backed chair, staring at the three figured before him – the same three who had escaped from the village. He asked a question in a soft voice, and the big guy – Goota-Lolaa – made a quiet reply. The man in the chair frowned, eyeing him ominously. Abdi began translating quietly.

“I gave you a very simple task,” whispered Popo, staring down at Goota-Lolaa over his steepled fingers.

“Yes, sir.” Goota-Lolaa swallowed and averted his eyes to the ground. “We did as best we could but were driven away.”

Popo scoffed. “These poor villagers defeated you?” he demanded. “If that is the case, then I have no use for you.” He raised his hand, and the militants on either side of his chair raised their rifles.

“It wasn’t the villagers,” explained Goota-Lolaa, speaking quickly. “They were miraculous users – they defended the village and forced me to call the retreat. We three were lucky to escape.”

Popo rose to his feet. “You fought miraculous users and lost?” He snorted. “I should have expected as much. But where is _my_ pet miraculous user?” Abdi flinched at that, eyes narrowing in anger.

“I do not know, master,” Goota-Lolaa responded, shaking his head, his shoulders trembling.

“The boy was weak,” offered Hunda Beekaa with a scoff. “His ultimate failure was inevitable.”

“Perhaps,” agreed Popo ominously. “Yet it is unfortunate all the same. I shall deal with the three of you soon enough. But for the moment…” He snapped his fingers, and a girl the same age as Abdi stepped hesitantly out of the tent behind him. Her unkempt brown hair reached to the middle of her back.

“Aisha…” whispered Abdi, his jaw set in a line, eyes narrowed in barely-restrained anger.

“Don’t do anything stupid, bro,” King Monkey warned him, putting a hand on his shoulder.

“Your brother has failed me,” Popo stated, his voice devoid of emotion. Aisha stared up at him wide-eyed. “You understand what that means, do you not, child?” Aisha stood, frozen in fear, her lip trembling. Popo slapped her callously across the face, the sound of the impact ringing in the silence of the camp. Aisha fell to the ground with a cry. Popo grabbed the front of her dress and hauled her up, holding her one-handed, her feet dangling off the ground.

Abdi lunged for the tent flap, but King Monkey threw an arm around his chest and pulled him back. “If you go out there, now, he’s _definitely_ going to kill her!” he hissed into the boy’s ear.

“I can’t just sit here and do _nothing_!” Abdi retorted heatedly, squirming against King Monkey’s grip.

“M–miti!” whimpered Aisha. “Miti maaloo!” She clutched Popo’s wrist with both hands. Popo drew her face close to his own, licking his lips.

“Oh, đụ,” King Monkey cursed, glaring at the scene on the far side of the assembly. “If we don’t do something right the hell _now_ , she is _seriously_ đụ!”

“Right, time to move,” Maroodiga Cawlan called over the communicator. Suddenly all hell broke loose in the camp.

Roqonsa Saada bellowed at the top of her lungs and charged into the assembly from the right side, laying into the militants to either side of her with her fly whisk. Soldiers scattered in all directions to get away from her. Bullets deflected off of her in all directions as they finally brought their rifles to bear on her. King Monkey almost missed the speck – smaller than a Kwami by half – that jumped off Roqonsa Saada’s shoulder and landed on the closest man’s chest. The man swatted at Ngarayap, slapping his own chest, but she leapt, punched him in the chin, and sailed away, shooting her grappling hook and catching it around the nearest soldier’s wrist, pulling herself toward him. By the time Ngarayap had dispatched that militant Roqonsa Saada had already barreled through the crowd and reached the center of the assembly, where Popo – still holding Aisha by the throat – backed away and threw Aisha into his tent, placing Goota-Lolaa, Hunda Beekaa, and the Bulguu between himself and Roqonsa Saada. Hunda Beekaa raised his staff and pointed it at her, but Roqonsa Saada snagged the staff in her fly whisk and jerked it out of his hands, snapping it over her knee. Hunda Beekaa stumbled back away from her, rheumy eyes widening with fear. Goota-Lolaa raised his Shunjar rifle and fired pointblank at Roqonsa Saada, who dove to the side, narrowly avoiding the energy blast. The energy beam struck a tent on the far side of the field, setting it alight, casting flickering shadows across the battleground.

From the opposite side of the assembly Maroodiga Cawlan charged out, Sent-Bee hot on his heels. Maroodiga Cawlan flicked out his hose, sweeping the first rank of militants off their feet. Sent-Bee lobbed a grenade over the heads of the militants and into the crowd, dousing a dozen more with synth-Venom and leaving them frozen in place. Maroodiga Cawlan spun his hose in front of them, deflecting a barrage of bullets, and spun into a roundhouse kick, sending the closest militant sailing through the group to one side, laying out another dozen as he flew. A militant aimed his gun at Maroodiga Cawlan’s back, only for Sent-Bee to loop her yo-yo around the barrel and jerk it to the side. Instead of shooting Maroodiga Cawlan, the militant sprayed his compatriots.

King Monkey frowned. Why did _he_ always have to be the one sitting on the sidelines and waiting until they needed him?

As the heroes converged on the center of the field, the militants scattered, leaving Popo virtually alone, his back to his tent, only a half-dozen of his men standing between him and the heroes. And yet, the warlord seemed unperturbed by the turn of events. King Monkey narrowed his eyes suspiciously, Abdi quivering next to him.

“I had hoped you miraculous users would come,” Popo sneered, eyes alight with malignant fury.

“You’ve lost!” shouted Maroodiga Cawlan. “Give up now and you will live!”

Popo laughed maliciously. “I could say the same to _you_!” The last rays of the sun disappeared behind the mountains. Popo’s voice took on a higher timbre. “Except that _you_ will _not_ live! I do not need _numbers_ to defeat the likes of you!”

It took King Monkey’s eyes a moment to adjust to the darkness; as they did, he thought he saw Popo’s features distort and shift, as though his head were growing while the rest of his body shrunk. And then King Monkey realized he wasn’t imagining it: Popo’s skin turned to a milky white as long, leathery wings extended down from Popo’s now-clawed hands. In place of human feet he had three clawed talons. His face had become rounder, rows of razor-sharp teeth protruding from his open jaws below a single large eye. The creature leaned its head back and let out a primal screech.

“Đụ!” Without hesitating, King Monkey raced out of the tent, his staff spinning to one side, and sprinted across the body-strewn battlefield separating him from the others.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yet again it’s Kim’s POV and he doesn’t understand the language. This time it’s Oromo. Unfortunately all I have to work with is a dictionary, so I can’t exactly attest to the grammatical correctness of anything…
> 
> Miti – “no”  
> Maaloo – “please”
> 
> “đụ” is Vietnamese; take a guess what it means…
> 
> Any guesses as to who/what Popo is?


	12. Chapter 12

_What is that thing???_ That was the only question running through Abdi’s mind as he stared into the darkness where Popo had been. The miraculous users had lit up the night with the flashlights on their tools, and in the wavering lights Abdi caught the occasional glimpse of milk-white skin, of scraggly hair, of leathery wings. One miraculous user – Roqonsa Saada, he thought – grappled with the Bulguu off to one side. Nearby energy pulses flashed where a handful of Goota-Lolaa’s lieutenants were mounting a last stand, burning Abdi’s eyes and spoiling his night vision with the unexpected flares of light. A stray beam struck a tent which caught fire, the light bathing the scene and giving it a surreal quality. In its glow he could see Sent-Bee dodging around Goota-Lolaa’s energy shots, firing her own streams of a golden liquid at him. Hunda Beekaa meanwhile had found the top half of his staff and was attempting to fight Maroodiga Cawlan with it.

In the light of the fire, however, Popo was nowhere to be seen. And neither was Aisha.

Abdi swallowed hard: after everything that had happened, he would be _damned_ if he left her in that monster’s clutches for a moment longer. So many obstacles lay between him and the tent, and he was virtually defenseless. A guttural scream pierced the night, one that Abdi recognized. He couldn’t sit and watch.

Abdi raced out of the comparative safety of the tent and ran across the battlefield, leaping over the immobilized bodies of his former “allies.” A leg jutted out and tripped him up. Abdi stumbled to the ground and rolled over onto his back. A face glared down at him.

“Where have _you_ been, traitor?” the man hissed. His eyes suddenly widened in shock, and he collapsed.

“He doesn’t owe _you_ anything,” Growll declared, phasing out of the man’s chest. The Kwami flew over to Abdi and nuzzled his cheek.

“Thank you.” Abdi swallowed. “I was afraid I would never see you again.”

“I wouldn’t leave you like that,” Growll assured him. “You’re the best holder I’ve had in at least a millennium, kid!” He dropped the clawed ring into Abdi’s hand. Abdi stared at the miraculous in shock. “This is yours.”

Abdi frowned. So much power in his hand. “What should I do?” he wondered. With this ring – with Goota-Lolaa and the others distracted by the heroes – he could do anything he wanted! He could escape with Aisha. He could fight the heroes and hope that was enough to prove his loyalty to Popo. Or he could turn on Popo.

The Kwami shrugged. “It’s your choice, kiddo. You could do almost anything with this. But I trust you to make the choice.”

Abdi furrowed his brows and stared down at the ring. For the first time in a year, _he_ was in control. “Growll,” he began, “Unleash the hounds.” With a nod of Satisfaction, Cadaabta Ey raced across the assembly field, whip in hand. He sidestepped to avoid Roqonsa Saada as the Bulguu hurled her across the camp. He spun his whip in a tight circle to block an errant spray of Sent-Bee’s synth-Venom. Finally he reached Popo’s tent and dove straight through the flap.

Aisha lay curled up on the bed, hugging her knees to her chest and weeping softly. Cadaabta Ey hesitantly placed his hand on her shoulder, and she flinched. He could see the red marks on her arms and neck where Popo had grabbed her. “Don’t worry, sister,” he whispered. “It’s only me.”

Aisha’s shoulders tensed. “I thought you had failed,” she whispered. “I thought you failed and died and I was going to die next.”

“I’m here,” he assured her, wrapping his arms around her in a tight hug and placing a kiss on her forehead. “And I did sort-of fail,” he admitted. “But I’m here because these other miraculous users agreed to help me rescue you. And I’m not going to let that _thing_ hurt you anymore.” He squeezed her shoulder gently. “Now let’s get out of here.”

Aisha nodded in resignation and allowed him to pick her up. He placed her on his back with her arms clasped around his neck to carry her piggyback style, and she hugged him tightly. Cadaabta Ey turned and gave her a reassuring smile before slipping out the back of the tent and turning to loop around the assembly field to pick his way back to the entrance, bending low to avoid notice, searching the darkness for a hint of the milky-white monster. However, he hadn’t made it past more than a handful of tents before Aisha tensed and squeezed his neck. Another moan pierced the night. “Wait!” she called. “We need to help Hoda!”

“What!?!” he demanded in disbelief.

“We have to help her!” Aisha insisted. “She’s my friend, and she needs help!”

“I didn’t do all of this for an alien!” Cadaabta Ey insisted, shaking his head. “I didn’t do it to play hero! I came here to rescue _you_ , sister!”

She squeezed his neck tightly and told him, “He’s hurting _her_ just like he hurt me! I can’t escape and not help her!”

Cadaabta Ey groaned in annoyance. Nevertheless, he turned away from the camp entrance and ran toward the sound of screaming and moaning coming from the paddock where Popo had kept Hoda imprisoned. The darkness was even deeper on this side of the camp, far from the flames consuming the tents and hidden in the shadow of the nearby shipping containers. Another string of whimpers came from the darker shape indicating the location of the paddock. Cadaabta Ey placed Aisha on the ground, leaning with her back against the shipping container, and crept closer. Two men stood within the enclosure, rifles raised and pointing down at the alien, hogtied and lying on her side in the thick mud.

“Let’s see what happens here, monster,” one of the men said with a callous laugh. “Popo was none too happy when the other one came back empty-handed.”

“You think maybe he’ll let me keep a piece for a trophy?” the other asked, kneeling over her and grabbing her jaw.

“You’re tough when I’m tied up like this,” Hoda retorted, spitting in his face. “But try that again with my arms free and then let’s see what happens!”

Cadaabta Ey frowned. He had hoped to avoid confrontations. But he couldn’t just leave now… Silently he sprang over the wooden fence and into the paddock, grabbing the two soldiers by the neck and riding them down into the squishy mud. One yelped in surprise, trying to bring his rifle to bear, and Cadaabta Ey stomped his chest. Neither man moved again. He turned to the alien. “Hey,” he whispered hoarsely, “I am here to rescue you!”

The darker shape made a sound like a sigh of relief. “I feared I might _never_ be able to leave,” she whispered.

“Well, don’t count your chickens before they’ve hatched,” he retorted, speaking hurriedly. “We still need to actually get out of here.” He sloshed through the mud to her side, knelt behind her, and made quick work of the rope with his claws before helping her to her feet.

Hoda turned and looked at Cadaabta Ey, a look of gratitude in her eyes. That look, however, was short-lived; the moment she caught sight of Cadaabta Ey, her entire attitude changed. “You!” she hissed, springing on top of him and pinning him into the mud, her eyes flaring menacingly. Her talons found his throat. “ _You beat me!_ Why are _you_ here!?!”

Cadaabta Ey couldn’t breathe with the alien’s knee pressing down on his chest. His legs couldn’t find purchase in the mud. He grabbed her hands with his own, pulling her claws away from his throat. With effort he managed to pull in a gasping breath and glared up at the alien. He growled. “Because I came to save my sister, and for some reason she decided you two needed to escape as a package deal,” he answered brusquely. “Now get _off_!”

The alien let out a high-pitched croaking laugh, her mouth opening ominously and showing off two rows of razor-sharp pointed teeth. Her lips pulled back and she leaned forward, her breath hot on Cadaabta Ey’s face. “I should rip your throat out,” she whispered, her mouth a hair’s breadth from his throat. “It’s no more than you deserve.”

Cadaabta Ey stared up at the alien wide-eyed, his hand tightening on the handle of his whip. Hoda shifted her position, and Cadaabta Ey seized his chance. His drove his knee between her legs, and she grunted, pitching forward fractionally. Again he kneed her, and her grip on his throat loosened. Cadaabta Ey pulled one hand away, released it, and punched her in the face. Hoda fell off of him to the side, spitting out a couple broken teeth, and Cadaabta Ey kipped to his feet, cracking his whip above her head. Hoda stared up at him, eyes wide, mouth open in terror. He raised the whip–

But he hesitated.

Why? Why should he hurt this creature now? He _had_ hurt her before – no differently than Popo had hurt Aisha, even if not in the same way. But those times he had done it to protect Aisha from Popo’s wrath, because Popo would have done something worse to her if he hadn’t. But now? Would it be right to whip her again, and only to save his own life, only because she had lashed out at him? He wasn’t protecting Aisha now; if he did this, it would only be for his own benefit.

What would it make him if he did this?

With a frustrated grunt he hurled his whip down in the mud in front of Hoda. “I am finished!” he shouted into the night. “I am done hurting the helpless!” He met her gaze. “And I’m done hurting you. My sister decided you’re her friend, so I can’t and won’t hurt you again.”

The alien stared at him in shock, blinking her eyes slowly, before her gaze dropped to the whip by her hand. Her clawed hand closed around the handle and she rose to her feet, swinging the tip awkwardly into the ground. She glared at Cadaabta Ey predatorily, and he met her gaze without flinching. She swung the whip around again and cracked it satisfyingly in the air. Cadaabta Ey didn’t move. “This is no less than I owe you for this morning,” Hoda observed darkly, raising the whip over her head.

Cadaabta Ey nodded.

“Can you both stop it!?!” demanded Aisha, hobbling over from the shipping container. “We’re all together in this. And we all need to leave!”

Hoda’s lips turned down in a frown and she stared at Aisha. “Why should I trust him?”

Aisha sighed, tears in her eyes. “Because he’s my brother. Because _I_ trust him, even after everything that happened to both of us this year. Because you’re my friend and I don’t want to see you get hurt anymore – or see you hurt each other. Please.”

Hoda stared at Cadaabta Ey through narrowed eyes, her head tilting suspiciously. Finally she shrugged in resignation coiled the whip before handing it back to him. “Don’t make me regret this,” she warned.

Cadaabta Ey nodded firmly and vaulted over the paddock fence before holding his hand out to the alien. She looked at the hand with a frown, placed her foot on the lowest rung, and swung herself over the fence, nearly stumbling backward into the paddock as she did so. Cadaabta Ey caught her with a hand on her back to hold her steady, and she made it over. Hoda leaned heavily on his shoulder.

“I… have not been able to move for so long,” the alien panted, chest heaving. “My strength is not where it was…” She stretched her arms and legs, twisted her neck, and nodded that she was ready.

Cadaabta Ey swept Aisha up in his arms, holding her close, and set a brisk pace down the path, skirting around the center of the camp where he could still hear the heroes fighting Popo’s last holdouts – Goota-Lolaa, Hunda Beekaa, and the Bulguu, it sounded like. Hoda followed him closely, her hand resting lightly on his shoulder. Cries of pain and terror pierced the night from the far side of the camp. In the slim moonlight the path stood out clearly to Cadaabta Ey’s miraculous-enhanced vision. “Can you see?” he whispered.

Aisha wrapped her arms tighter around his neck and shook her head. Hoda let out a wheezing laugh. “Your people consider this _poor_ visibility?” she asked. “Mine can see in far less than _this_.”

Cadaabta Ey turned down another deserted lane, eyes and ears attuned for any sign of nearby soldiers. “Watch our back, then,” he ordered the alien, feeling a growing sense of unease. They were only a handful of meters from their escape, but still anything could happen. Finally they reached the gap, and Cadaabta Ey pushed the boards a little further apart to accommodate Hoda’s larger frame. Hoda crawled through first, then turned around to help Aisha. Cadaabta Ey dropped to the ground and started through.

A horrifying shriek overhead sent a chill running down Cadaabta Ey’s spine. On the other side of the fence Aisha flinched, covered her mouth with both hands, clenched her eyes shut, and shook in quiet terror, her muffled cries still audible to his miraculous-enhanced senses. A milk-white form darted above them, aiming back toward the center of the camp. Cadaabta Ey froze as it passed. This was what his sister had endured for the last year. This was what had destroyed his village and forced him to perform such horrors. And if it wasn’t stopped now, it would continue on and do this again, to other Aishas.

With a heavy heart he pushed back through the fence and into the camp.

“Abdi?” whispered Aisha, panic in her voice, reaching out for him. “What are you doing???”

Cadaabta Ey met Hoda’s eye through the opening. “Keep her safe,” he told her. The alien nodded firmly and placed her hand on Aisha’s shoulder, pulling her close. Inside the camp, Cadaabta Ey surged to his feet, fury in his eyes, and charged back toward the flickering lights near the center of the compound, barreling straight through the tents. His whip cracked the silence with a vengeance.


	13. Chapter 13

King Monkey vaulted over a cluster of militants who had been frozen in place by one of Sent-Bee’s synth-Venom grenades, his eyes trained on the creature standing in the very center of the camp. The creature – Popo – fixed his single eye on King Monkey, pumped his wings once, and shot up into the air, catching on an air current and gliding over King Monkey’s head. King Monkey threw his staff at Popo like a dart, but the staff fell harmlessly short between King Monkey and the other heroes. Popo wheeled around and dropped to the ground, sinking his clawed feet into the chest of one of his own soldiers who was just starting to rouse. The man stared up into Popo’s eye and let out a terrified shriek as Popo released him. Flailing his arms wildly, the soldier landed on Roqonsa Saada, knocking her to the ground. She shoved the man off of her and surged to her feet moments before Goota-Lolaa dove at her middle. Roqonsa Saada barely managed to get a hand on his arm before they overbalanced and fell to the ground, rolling over on top of each other, wrestling.

Popo dropped to the ground in front of King Monkey, who lunged to the side, grabbed his staff, and brought it around in a massive two-handed strike at the monster’s head. Popo’s head, however, shifted its shape as he transformed into a rhinoceros, lowered his head, and charged King Monkey, his deep bellow and pounding feet rocking the ground. King Monkey jumped with moments to spare, and Popo caught him between the legs with his horn, throwing him up into the air. King Monkey spun around in midair to land on Popo’s back, but Popo transformed into an ostrich, and King Monkey landed just behind him. Popo leapt into the air, turned, and shapeshifted into an elephant. He grabbed King Monkey in his trunk and threw him. Before the elephant could release him, however, King Monkey grabbed the trunk, pulled himself closer, and punched the elephant in the face. With one hand on the elephant’s tusks, he swung himself around to build momentum and forced Popo’s head down to one side, pushing the elephant off-balance and driving him into the ground. Popo returned to his normal form – the batlike creature with clawed hands and feet – and shot into the air.

“We can’t let that thing escape!” Maroodiga Cawlan shouted, pointing into the sky where Popo circled.

King Monkey gauged the distance through narrowed eyes. “Slingshot!” he called. Maroodiga Cawlan gave him a funny look but tossed one end of his hose to Roqonsa Saada, who kicked Goota-Lolaa away and set her feet. King Monkey spun around just before he ran headfirst into the hose, pulling it back. Goota-Lolaa pushed himself to his feet and charged them, only to be blindsided by Ngarayap, who wrapped him up with her grappling hook and pulled him aside. Maroodiga Cawlan and Roqonsa Saada raised their ends as high as they could, just as King Monkey reached the end of the hose’s tension and jumped. The hose sprang back, launching him into the air. With a shout he spread his arms, slamming into Popo in a flying tackle far above the tree line. He grabbed the monster around the chest, pinning its wings so it couldn’t flap them. Popo lost altitude and dropped like a rock, King Monkey’s momentum propelling them away from the camp, deeper into the forest, as they rocketed past the tops of the trees. Popo’s clawed hands clutched at King Monkey’s arms, peeling them off and freeing his wings. He seized King Monkey’s chest with his feet, caught himself meters from the ground, and flapped hard to regain the altitude he had lost. Higher and higher he flew, carrying King Monkey with him. The air began to thin. King Monkey steeled himself as the monster’s claws dug into his shoulders – though without piercing his miraculous suit. The camp below them, lit up by the fires of burning tents, flickered with shadows dancing about.

Suddenly Popo swung King Monkey forward and released him into the air. An involuntary cry escaped King Monkey’s lips as he windmilled his arms in a feeble attempt to take control of his descent. The hand still holding his staff spun, and he felt the tiniest trace of lift from his spinning staff. King Monkey forced his breathing to slow and grabbed the staff with both hands, spinning it above his head and slowing his descent. The ground was still close to a kilometer below him – too far to survive a fall. He could see the deeper darkness of the forest surrounding the camp, the tops of the conifers standing out in the moon’s minimal illumination. A dark shadow passed behind King Monkey, and he gasped. Something solid crashed into his back.

Popo grabbed him around the chest, the razor-sharp claws on his hands digging into King Monkey’s sides. The stench of sulfur in his nose nearly overwhelmed King Monkey. The monster leaned in close and whispered, “Now I will have my way with _you_ , hero.” He squeezed, and King Monkey gasped. “First you, then _all_ of the others! And you will tell all your kind what happens to those who offend Popobawa!” Popobawa sunk his teeth into his neck. King Monkey yelped.

“Gah!” Popobawa grunted, unable to pierce the miraculous suit. “No matter; I will peel this from your corpse!” His face shifted in size and shape, lengthening into a shark-like protrusion lined with even more sharp teeth. The claws on his hands grew sharper. Popobawa placed one claw against King Monkey’s cheek.

“Uproar!” shouted King Monkey. He had never used Uproar on something like this before; the last time he had used it on something that was neither a miraculous user nor an Akuma, the science experiment gone wrong had burst apart. A baseball bat appeared in the air next to King Monkey’s hand, and he grabbed it before gravity could carry it out of his reach. With Popobawa’s hands on his shoulders, King Monkey could do little except swing backward and hope for the best. All he could manage was a glancing blow on Popobawa’s leg. Popobawa shuddered and gasped.

King Monkey turned to watch Popobawa’s shark head melt away and recede back into his face, his long claws retracting into his hands. “What–what is happening to me!?!” the creature demanded as he returned to his bat-like form. He closed his eye, furrowing his forehead in concentration. His eyes shot open in a rage. “I can’t transform!”

King Monkey crowed jubilantly and swung his legs back before kicking forward. Popobawa’s grip on his shoulders loosened, and he swung up and over Popobawa’s head, landing on his back. Popobawa grunted and lost ten meters of altitude before he caught himself. “What’s that?” King Monkey taunted, punching the monster in the back of his head. “ _You_ don’t like losing control, either? Guess now you know what _you_ ’ve been doing to people!”

“You will pay for that, hero!” declared Popobawa, turning over onto his back. King Monkey dangled, his legs swinging freely. Popobawa shrugged his shoulders and squirmed, and King Monkey’s grip loosened.

A grappling hook caught around Popobawa’s ankle, and he howled in shock. The grappling hook line drew taut, and Popobawa was pulled down toward the ground. He strained to fly against the force pulling him down, but it was unmoving. A hose looped around Popobawa’s other ankle. Slowly Popobawa dropped toward the ground until, while still fifteen meters above the top of the camp, Popobawa wheeled about and charged the center of the camp, King Monkey holding desperately onto his legs.

King Monkey finally became aware of Ngarayap holding her grappling hook and tugging on the line while Maroodiga Cawlan reeled in his hose several meters away. Nearby Goota-Lolaa and the Bulguu fought Roqonsa Saada. Sent-Bee kept up a steady stream of synth-Venom at Hunda-Beekaa, who used the pieces of his stick to summon a shield around himself before the shield flooded with black smoke and he vanished.

Three meters off the ground, King Monkey released Popobawa’s ankle and dropped to the ground. Popobawa remained in the air a moment longer before Maroodiga Cawlan leapt and tackled him to the ground. Popobawa let out a laugh and threw Maroodiga Cawlan aside. “Do you think that your feeble strength can match my raw power!?!” he demanded. He grabbed the grappling hook line and tugged, and Ngarayap was pulled forward. Popowaba grabbed her by the throat and opened his mouth. Sent-Bee hit him in the face with a glob of synth-Venom at pointblank range, and Popo shook it off. “I will annihilate you all!”

At that moment a whip lashed out and stuck Popobawa between the shoulder blades. The monster flinched. Ngarayap pulled her knees up to her chest and kicked out, catching Popobawa in the face and breaking his grip. She spun around in a back flip to land out of his reach. The whip cracked again. Again and again the whip cracked against Popobawa’s back. Finally, Popobawa turned around. “Weak child,” he muttered.

“You will not hurt my sister – or anyone else, for that matter,” declared Cadaabta Ey, fire in his eyes. “I am done taking your orders! _FEAR-Y_!!!”

Popobawa crouched low to the ground, his body wracked with tremors. His single eye bugged out, the pupil constricting. His taloned feet clenched and unclenched the soft dirt. He took in a shuddering breath as Cadaabta Ey lashed him again and again with his whip. He turned and grabbed the whip as it cracked, eyes alight with malice. “Do you think _your_ fear can destroy a creature _bred_ of fear? _You_ wield fear as a simple weapon; _I_ feed off of it!”

Cadaabta Ey tugged on his whip but could not free it from Popobawa’s grip. His eyes widened in fear. King Monkey could hear his miraculous beeping: Uproar would end soon. He lunged forward and caught Popobawa around the waist, slamming him into the ground. Popobawa lost his grip on the whip, and King Monkey rolled off of him just as the whip cracked again. Popobawa shrieked.

King Monkey stared down at Popobawa, and then looked around to see the tents on fire. There had to be a reason Popobawa refused to light his camp or allow more fires than necessary. “Hang on!” he shouted to the others, pointing at the fire. “Get fire close to him!” 

Cadaabta Ey continued to whip the monster over and over, the lash biting into the soft, leathery wings and shredding them down to ribbons. A pile of brush and camp debris grew to one side as the other heroes threw everything they could find into the makeshift pyre. Synth-Bee had claimed Goota-Lolaa’s dropped Shunjar rifle, and she shot the pile of detritus over and over until it caught fire, the flames billowing higher and higher, almost on a level with the tops of the trees surrounding the camp. Popobawa shrieked as the fire burned hotter and hotter. Cadaabta Ey drove him back, toward the fire. The flames licked at his feet and back as he tried desperately to shield his face with his arms. Between whip strikes, Popobawa spread his wings and took to the sky to escape. Cadaabta Ey’s whip, however, latched on around his ankle, drawing tight. Cadaabta Ey swung him around, and Popobawa came crashing back down into the midst of the fire. An anguished shriek rose from the center of the pyre. A couple minutes later, Popobawa’s body was nowhere to be seen as the fire burned down to embers.

On the far side of the square, on seeing his leader’s death, Goota-Lolaa let out a bellow of rage. He turned to the Bulguu. “Monster, get us out of here!”

The Bulguu winced, a low gravely noise escaping from his throat. He started to nod, but froze. He turned on Goota-Lolaa, a feral look in his eyes. He suddenly grabbed Goota-Lolaa by the collar. “I am not a monster!” he roared into the man’s face. His sharp teeth flashed in the darkness. Goota-Lolaa let out a pained shriek that was suddenly cut off. The Bulguu threw his mangled body across the camp.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The time King Monkey refers to when he used Uproar on a living creature was in “The Life and Times of the Heroes of Europe,” [Chapter 9](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26771119/chapters/68973024).


	14. Chapter 14

Maroodiga Cawlan stared down at the ashes where the Popobawa had burned up. The cooling embers glowed red in the darkness, dancing in his vision. After everything that had happened in the last few days, all of the death and trauma and destruction, the monster was gone. They had avenged those whom it had hurt and killed. Certainly the world would be a better place without it. He kicked at the embers with his foot, spreading them out a little bit and allowing them to burn out. A massive form approached from the far side of the clearing. “My thanks, Shunjar,” he greeted him, not looking up from the dying fire.

The Shunjar let out a wheezing laugh and bobbed his head. “You freed me from that monster; that in itself earns you _my_ gratitude,” he replied.

“If you had no loyalty to the Popobawa and no desire for war, then why serve him?”

“I was an engineer on one of our scout ships,” the alien explained. “My daughter entered the Navy shortly before we left on our last deployment and was assigned to the same ship as a cadet. When our ship began to break apart in orbit over your planet, I found her and we took the same escape pod. I was injured in our landing, but when a native found us I thought we were saved. He took us back to his camp, bandaged my injuries, and taught us his language. I thanked him for his help, but he worked for Popo. As soon as I had recovered, Popo made us his prisoners and threatened to butcher my daughter if I did not serve him.”

Maroodiga Cawlan’s eyes widened. “You are an engineer? On spaceships?”

“You may call me ‘Kassim,’” he answered, nodding.

Maroodiga Cawlan held out his hand and clasped the alien’s forearm. “I didn’t meet the other of your race,” he admitted, “but you aren’t like the description I have received of him. He was far more war-hungry and interested in conquest.”

“I believe that: there were a few warmongers on the ship – especially among the officers. But that’s not me.” Kassim shook his head. “I didn’t join the Navy to fight; I joined the Navy for the challenge of working on the ships.” He looked around, his shoulders sagging. “Unfortunately, if Popo is any indication, I doubt I will be welcomed here.”

Maroodiga Cawlan hummed contemplatively. “I would agree that Africa as a whole is unlikely to welcome you as more than a curiosity or a weapon,” he admitted. “However, I may still be able to assist you. You see, we are in the process of building our own spaceport near Australia, complete with a small number of space-planes. It may take come convincing – the last Shunjar we met tried to start an invasion, remember – but I think you could find a place there. If you will promise to help us, I promise that I will vouch for you. You and your daughter will be permitted to live and work there.”

“Thank you.” Kassim exhaled. “You can rest easy: I have no interest in further war. But at the same time, I won’t help you make war on my own people,” he warned. “But to have the opportunity to work on spaceships again, to help your people expand their spacefaring capability, would be incredible! And after the last two years, I know my daughter and I would like to be somewhere safe.” He chuckled. “Now that we are free from Popo and Goota-Lolaa, all I want is to keep my daughter safe.”

Maroodiga Cawlan frowned. “But where _is_ your daughter?”

Kassim’s eyes widened in surprise, and he turned toward the far side of the compound. Before he could run to check, however, they saw three figures approaching, one of which was only a head shorter than Kassim.

“Your daughter is safe,” called Cadaabta Ey as the second Shunjar stepped forward gingerly to hug Kassim. Cadaabta Ey indicated the girl he was supporting with her arm wrapped around his shoulders. “My sister insisted that we rescue her when the fighting started in earnest.”

Kassim glared over his daughter’s head at Cadaabta Ey and hissed, his eyes narrowing to tiny slits. His daughter, however, made a grunting noise and shook her head. Kassim looked down at her in surprise. As the two aliens carried on a hurried conversation in their own language, Maroodiga Cawlan stared at the boy, his mouth set in a thin line.

“How did you recover that miraculous?” he demanded. “You must return it now!”

Cadaabta Ey’s sister gasped, but he nodded in resignation and closed his eyes. “Growll, Recall the dogs,” he whispered before being engulfed in crimson light. He caught the black Kwami as it appeared from his ring, and started pulling the miraculous off his finger.

“Hang on, kid,” protested Growll, putting his paws on the ring before turning to glare at Maroodiga Cawlan. “Where do you get off just demanding that my pup hand over his miraculous?”

Maroodiga Cawlan maintained a stoic expression as he examined the Kwami. “I represent the African Miraculous Guardians,” he explained calmly. “Part of our responsibility includes ensuring that you and your brothers and sisters in the Atlantean Miraculous Set do not fall into the wrong hands.”

“And you think my boy isn’t a good holder.” The Kwami’s ears lay flat against his head. “How is that _your_ call to make, Elephant?”

“No, it’s okay,” Abdi told the Kwami, stroking his head with one finger. “I know I did some bad things for Popo. I… I don’t deserve you. But thank you anyways. Thank you for helping me save my sister tonight. Thank you for being my friend.” He sighed heavily and removed the ring, sucking the Kwami back into the miraculous. Giving the ring a last longing look, he nevertheless placed it in Maroodiga Cawlan’s outstretched hand.

Maroodiga Cawlan felt the weight of the miraculous in his hand and looked more closely at the teen. “Now where will you go?”

Abdi shrugged, holding his sister close. “I don’t know. Our village was destroyed by Popo, and most of our people are dead or gone – the last one left in Popo’s band was killed in your village. I–” He sighed. “Thank you for this; I only wish there had been superheroes there to protect _our_ village.”

Maroodiga Cawlan looked away to hide the tears that sprang to his eyes. “I wish we could have saved your village, too,” he confessed, bowing his head. “Unfortunately, what you see is as much of a team as we have – the three of us, I mean; the other two are just visiting for the weekend. And with as few miraculous and holders as I have at my disposal, we just don’t have the resources to help every village in trouble, as much as we would like to.”

Abdi gave him an eager look. “Could we stay? With you, I mean? I want to be able to stop the same thing that happened to us from happening to others. If I could stop the next Popo from doing to another girl what he did to Aisha…”

Maroodiga Cawlan eyed him carefully before turning to his sister. “And what about you?” he asked. “What is your desire?”

Aisha stared up at him in shock. “What do _I_ want? I–I don’t know,” she admitted. “I’ve never had the choice. I don’t know what I want, but I know I don’t want to stay with Abdi, somewhere safe.”

Maroodiga Cawlan snorted. “That is easily enough accomplished,” he observed wryly. Turning to Abdi he explained, “Unfortunately we generally do not permit anyone to live at our Temple without a purpose, either as a Guardian or as a miraculous holder, and all three of my miraculous have holders at present.” The boy’s shoulders fell. “But at the same time,” he added, “I do find myself unexpectedly in possession of a fourth miraculous.” He held the ring out to Abdi. “This is the Miraculous of the Dhole. For your help tonight, and for your humility, it is yours once more, so long as Growll wishes for you to be his holder. Use it wisely.”

Abdi’s eyes lit up with excitement and he grabbed the ring and jammed it back on his finger. Growll reappeared from the miraculous in a flash of light and nuzzled his cheek, his tail wagging excitedly. “You can count on me!” He hesitated. “Thank you. Thank you for giving us a home. And for trusting me.”

Maroodiga Cawlan put his hand on the boy’s shoulder. “You earned it,” he told him seriously. “Now just go out there and earn it again every day.” He glanced over to where Ngarayap was tending to a couple of prisoners on the far side of the field and caught the girl’s eye. She quickly jogged over to them. “Abdi is going to join our temple as a miraculous holder with the Dhole Miraculous,” he told her. “Aisha is to remain at the temple with us, as well. See to it that they both get home and find rooms.”

“Of course,” Ngarayap assured him, placing a hand on Abdi’s shoulder. She looked past him at Aisha. “Ooh, I love your hair color!” she told her.

“Thanks…” Aisha replied hesitantly.

“We are going to be best friends,” Ngarayap promised her, smiling broadly and wrapping an arm around her shoulders as they started down the trail toward the temple. “Just wait until you see the amazing waterfall in front of our temple’s entrance! Sometimes we’ll go swimming in there and it’s so cold you’ll almost freeze to death in moments!”

Maroodiga Cawlan strode across the field to a spot near the far side of the camp where Roqonsa Saada had gathered together all of the hostages taken by Popo – most of them young women. While there were a handful of hostages that he knew from Yoonis, even more were outsiders. Even more villages that Popo and his men had ravaged, even more lives that they had destroyed. “Are these all of them?” he asked, turning to Roqonsa Saada.

She nodded, her mouth set in a hard line. “All that survived,” she reported. “Of the Yoonis hostages, only Dekha is missing.”

Haji stepped forward out of the group with Farah following after him. Maroodiga Cawlan pulled the old man into an embrace. “I was so worried; when I heard you had been taken, I feared the worst.”

“We are fine, child,” answered Haji, squeezing him tightly and holding him out to inspect. “But unfortunately Dekha–she–”

Maroodiga Cawlan nodded. “I know. I understand. Her sacrifice will be remembered.”

“After this,” Haji began slowly, “I don’t know if I can return to my home. It… won’t be the same without her.”

Maroodiga Cawlan frowned. “Unfortunately, I do not think we have the space for you both at the temple along with our new guests.”

“You know,” interjected Sent-Bee, “last time I was in Australia I happened to notice that they have an entire retirement village for their retired Guardians and holders and the like. Perhaps they might have an apartment for you?”

Haji nodded contemplatively. “Australia?” he asked, furrowing his brows in confusion.

“There’s an entire Island-Temple thing there,” Maroodiga Cawlan explained, rubbing his forehead. “We met them after you retired – don’t ask.”

“I think I will enjoy meeting and sharing stories with other Guardians,” Haji agreed. “But what about Farah? Living in a village of elders can’t be exciting for him.”

The teen shrugged. “If that’s what’s best for you, go. I will be fine here.”

Maroodiga Cawlan put a hand on Farah’s shoulder. “Since your parents’ deaths, we have been keeping you on the outside to spare you the pain of their fate. However, you are now old enough to make the choice yourself – and you’ve seen the consequences. So it’s up to you: would you like an introduction into your parents’ world?”

Farah frowned. “I’m not sure,” he admitted. “What happened to Dekha, what happened to my friends… I never want to see that happen again. But…”

“But you have gotten a taste of normal and found that it suits you?” Haji smiled knowingly. “Your parents were two of the greatest miraculous users I ever knew, and they fought to give you the choice of a normal life.”

“If you wish to remain in Yoonis, I will ask Aziza to let you stay with her,” Maroodiga Cawlan promised.

“Thank you.”

Maroodiga Cawlan finally turned to their two guests. “I thank you both for your assistance,” he told them. “This… hit far too close to home for my comfort,” he admitted. “But with your help we stopped it. So thank you.”

Sent-Bee shrugged. “What can I say? ‘Friendship is magic’ and all that, right?”

King Monkey burst out laughing and slapped Sent-Bee on the back. “You actually _watch_ that show!?!”

She gave him a look. “How did you know that came from a TV show?” Her jaw dropped. “Don’t tell me… you’re a _brony_!!!” She let out a cackling laugh. “I should tell Ondine when we get back – no: Alix!”

King Monkey stilled instantly and paled. “You wouldn’t.”

Sent-Bee smirked maliciously. “Watch me.”

Maroodiga Cawlan stared at them in confusion. Finally he cleared his throat. “Well, anyways, you’re welcome to stay the night before returning to Paris.”

King Monkey held out a hand to Maroodiga Cawlan. “You’re more than welcome, bro: I’m glad we could help. And feel free to stop by Paris anytime!”


	15. Chapter 15

Monday evening, as the sun was beginning to set, Kim shuffled from side to side nervously on the front steps of Ondine’s apartment building, his hair slicked back. He had ditched his accustomed sweatshirt for a button-down shirt and jacket, Xuppu hidden in his breast pocket. The bag of fresh pastries in his hand – helpfully provided by Marinette – felt a little lame as an apology. But after he’d had to cancel on her Saturday, it felt all too appropriate to bring _something_. And after everything that weekend…

“What are you so worried about?” Xuppu demanded as Kim’s finger froze on the call button. “You’re not asking the girl to marry you; you’re walking around for half the night together to look at a bunch of fancy junk!”

“It’s not ‘junk’; it’s ‘art’,” retorted Kim, glaring down at the Kwami. Xuppu raised an eyebrow at him in disbelief. “I only called it that _once_!”

“Um, Kim?” a hesitant voice asked from the doorway in front of him. “Why are you talking to your pocket?”

Kim gulped in embarrassment and glanced up to find Ondine’s legs before following them up to her shapely chest, the form-fitting sweater accentuating her curves perfectly. He felt the blood rushing to his face and finally looked away, up at her face. Only to find her staring at him with a slightly worried expression. She didn’t wear makeup very often – most of the time they met at the pool or right after a practice – but the blue eye shadow drew him in. She coughed into her hand, and Kim shook his head to break out of his reverie. “Huh? Sorry, I was just… um…” He leaned forward, and his lips met hers. “Sorry,” he mumbled.

Ondine pulled him in closer, wrapping her arms around his neck, and he put one hand on the small of her back, the other in her hair, holding her close. Her perfume invaded his nostrils, and he let out a sigh. He felt her smile as she broke the kiss. “What was that about?” she asked, the corners of her eyes crinkling.

“Oh, I just love you,” he replied, gazing fondly into her eyes.

Her eyes widened in surprise and she beamed at him, squeezing him tightly. “I love you, too, you goof!”

The streetlights were beginning to come on when Kim finally released her and took her hand, holding out the bag of pastries for her to pick a couple. “I mentioned this whole ‘ _Nuit Blanche Tardive_ ’ to Marinette and she insisted we needed enough sugar to make it through the night,” he explained as they started down one of the two streets still set up with sculpture installations. Down the block, a trio of ballerinas had a mat set up on a street corner next to a radio playing classical music. Even with the traffic noise occasionally drowning out the music, the ballerinas remained perfectly in sync. Kim and Ondine stopped for a moment to admire a painting by a local artist: dark black and brown streaks surrounding a blood-red center ringed by gold. If he squinted, he could almost see Popobawa’s face looming out of the blackness. The smell of the fire still lingered in his nostrils. His jaw clenched involuntarily, and he tightened his arm around Ondine’s waist, pulling her in closer. He had to remind himself that Popobawa was gone, turned to ash and ground into the Somali dirt. That threat was gone – it would never threaten another person again.

“Hey, are you okay?” Ondine asked, worry in her voice. Her hand found his shoulder and squeezed gently.

He sighed. “Yeah, just… it was a long and weird weekend.” The fact that he had gone to recover a miraculous being misused and had ended up fighting the Popobawa had just made it all the weirder. But those girls had needed him. The kid’s sister had needed him. So he had done what he had to do. He looked up to find Ondine standing right in front of him, a question in her eyes.

“Do you… need to talk about it?” she asked. “You still haven’t said _what_ Chloe needed you to do for her.”

He chuckled humorlessly. “Let’s just say that she needed me to help her take out a really big, really nasty pile of trash,” he answered wryly. “I’m talking from here to the ceiling. It was everywhere! Smelled horrible.” Seeing the disturbed expression on her face he froze. “I… would just as soon _not_ talk about it,” he told her. “You know what got me through it?”

She hummed.

“Coming back here and seeing you.”

Ondine leaned into his side, her head resting on his shoulder. “I’m glad you’re here tonight. It just wasn’t the same on Saturday without you.”

“Believe me,” he assured her, squeezing her waist, “after this weekend, there’s no way I was going to miss out on spending some time with my favorite girl!”

She kissed his cheek and stole the pastry back out of his hands. “We’ll have to thank Marinette for these tomorrow,” she observed, selecting a mille-feuille. She broke off one end and popped it in her mouth before holding the other half up for Kim.

The flaky pastry melted in his mouth, and he grinned in agreement. “There really is nothing better than fresh pastries – or at least with the right company!”

Ondine blushed and reached out a thumb to wipe the pastry cream from around his lips. “Easy there, Romeo,” she teased. “It’s barely ten!”

As they continued down the street, their supply of macaroons and madeleines steadily decreased. They stopped for a few minutes to watch the ballet troupe finish their performance and applauded with the handful of other onlookers. The leader of the group bowed gracefully before starting the next song. Kim gave Ondine a nudge, and they moved on to take a closer look at a statue constructed from a few pieces of what Kim could barely make out as a car.

“I think he’s missing a few bits,” he whispered in Ondine’s ear.

She giggled. “You mean like the steering wheel?”

He grinned and was about to leave when the placard description caught his eye: “Made from pieces of the car in which the artist himself crashed last spring, in tribute to the Heroes who saved him.” Kim vaguely remembered the accident: he and Taureau Dechaine had been on patrol together when the out-of-control car caromed down the street. Taureau Dechaine had dropped down and slammed his shoulder into the car’s bumper, stopping it in its tracks. Then King Monkey had pried the door open with his staff and pulled out the driver. His daughter had been stuck in the back, and King Monkey had practically needed to remove the seat before they could get her out. Looking more closely at the sculpture, he could just make out the shape of Taureau Dechaine’s shoulder in one of the dents. “Son of a bitch,” he muttered to himself. Regardless of the darkness in the world, he had to admit: sometimes it was good to be a hero.

“Hmm?”

Kim startled. “Oh, just thinking about the sculpture,” he told her evasively. “Maybe this art thing isn’t so bad after all.”

They strolled a little further down the street, past a mime and a teenager playing a guitar, and stopped to look at another small exhibit with just a handful of paintings – in this case still-life oil paintings. Ondine leaned in a little for a closer look, and Kim felt her shiver slightly as the breeze picked up. He quickly pulled his jacket off and draped it over her shoulders.

“Aren’t you going to be cold?” she asked, looking at him in surprise.

He smiled affectionately but quickly turned it into a laugh. “I’ve put up with worst,” he scoffed. “One time Alix dared me to stand in the cafeteria’s walk-in refrigerator for the entire lunch period!”

She stared at him nonplussed. “Don’t tell me you actually _did_ it!”

He gave her an innocent look. “It was a dare; I couldn’t _not_ do it…”

“Sometimes I have to remind myself that yes, you really are that crazy,” she muttered, shaking her head and rubbing her forehead.

He grinned, wagging his eyebrows at her. “C’mon; you know you love it!”

She flushed. “Yeah, I think I do,” she admitted, giving him a peck on the lips.

He put his hand on the small of her back, and she leaned into his side, sighing in contentment. He found her hair right under his nose and smelled the fruity aroma of her shampoo. Shadows moving across the rooftops above them drew Kim’s eye, and he could just make out Sent-Bee and Cat Noir making their way down the street, probably moving to a different vantage point. He looked at the figure that had to be Sent-Bee and gave a nod. “Thanks,” he whispered, more for himself than anyone else.

Ondine hummed in surprise and looked at him. “You’re welcome. For what?”

He thought for a moment. “Just for being here. For being so cool about Saturday.” _For putting up with me_ , he didn’t say. “For everything.”

She smiled happily and leaned into him in a hug, her lips meeting his and parting. Kim lost himself in the moment, his senses overwhelmed by the scent of her perfume, the feel of her in his arms, the taste of the pastries on her lips and in her mouth. The evening around them disappeared; all that mattered was this moment. Everything he’d seen in Somalia, the actual monsters he had fought, this moment made it all worth it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That’s the end of “Fear Itself.” Today’s [“Patrol Log”](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26732992/chapters/70071108) actually takes place the same night as this and shows what happens to Sent-Bee and Cat Noir. And tomorrow look for another [“Life and Times”](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26771119/chapters/65305408) one-shot that gives a follow-up to this story!


End file.
